Sins of the Father
by jojospn
Summary: Sequel to Receive Me Brother. When John leaves following his deal to hunt the YED alone, Dean enlists Sam's help to find their missing father. Little does Sam know that this is the beginning of the end for his apple pie life. Rated M. Slight AU. Takes place around the events of the pilot.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I'm sorry I've been so late with this sequel. For one, my computer has been having some issues. I didn't want to bother writing something, only to have my lovely laptop shut off on me in mid-sentence. Not fun. Second, I almost decided to ditch this story for personal reasons. Recently there has been a cancer diagnosis within my own family. I'm not going to go into personal details, obviously, but it seemed a little too personal to go on with this sequel, even though it involves the aftermath of John's deal and not Dean's personal experiences. But I know that a good number of you have been patiently waiting for this, so I'm going to continue anyway. Needless to say, this will definitely be the last of the cancer fics for me, for a while, at least. Thank you all for your wonderful support these last few years, and your patience. And on a lighter note, I hope all my American friends/followers have a wonderful Thanksgiving!**

**One**

Before, John Winchester had been a relatively patient man.

He'd served in the Marines in 'Nam, and while he had always followed orders like the true soldier he was, he had never been one to jump in, guns blazing, into action. It was how you got your ass killed. When he was back Stateside, the young man had adjusted well, settled down with Mary and had lived the cliched American Dream. Even after Mary's death, and he had been forced into a life of hunting, John had been willing to take his time, make sure he got it right before ganking the monster, before allowing little Dean to be trusted with a shotgun, even before jumping the gun on the identity of his wife's killer. He was a firm believer in the age old motto of getting it right the first time, a fact which resulted in a gruelling twenty plus year wait in identifying the demon with the eerie yellow eyes.

But that had been when he had the time. When he could afford to cross all the "t"s and dot the "i"s. Before he had endured the bitter taste of the demon's kiss when he had sealed his fate a few weeks earlier. One simple action, the act which was supposed to be one of love, lust, gentle intimacy, had very neatly signed his death warrant. He would do it again, in a heartbeat; anything to save his boys, and Dean had literally been on death's door. A diagnosis of liver cancer earlier that spring had left his eldest in a coma, and Sam nearly inconsolable. That one kiss had reversed his son's fate, and had ultimately sealed his. And now, as the days, hours, _minutes_ slipped away, John Winchester realized that he really was, in fact, not as patient as he had once believed himself to be.

It was late October, nearly two months into his one year contract with the devil. Signs of demonic activity were popping up in California: electrical storms, cattle mutilations, the usual MO. Right from the start, John had been unsettled at that fact. He should have been elated that he was finally on the demon's trail, that he could potentially corner the sonofabitch and kill it once and for all, or die trying. It wasn't long before the hunter recognized that the demon wasn't just in California, but in _southern California. _Near Palo Alto, in fact.

Sam. Did the demon know that his son studied at Stanford? Had been on the west coast for about four years now? It could very well be a coincidence. But then, it wouldn't be the first time a demon would mess with one's family. It was practically written in the job description. And then there was the fact about his youngest, how he had been singled out as one of the demon's "special children". As to what that meant, John had no clue. But he had known the significance of his son's involvement for a while now, and while he was not sure which piece he was playing, he seemed to be more than a mere pawn. And now Yellow Eyes was in the area, near the anniversary of Mary's death.

He had sworn that he'd stay away from them. He didn't want his boys to find out about the deal, try to welch his way out of it. Not only could it potentially risk Dean's relapse (and who knew, this time the cancer could return with a greater vengeance), but he just couldn't bear to see his boys again. To see the anger, confusion, hurt in their eyes. He had done what he had to do, he'd saved his son's life, and he would do it again for either of his boys in a heartbeat. But to put on that false bravado, to hide the fear that sometimes would rear its ugly head in the dead of night, would be too much.

But he'd also made a promise: to Mary, to his sons, to himself, that he would finally find the demon who'd murdered his wife, who'd cursed Sam, who'd made him into the hardened man he was now. To protect his boys, especially his youngest, who just couldn't understand how much he truly loved them. And so, John Winchester had crossed the state line in the early hours of October 24th, a little over a week before the anniversary of the fire, determined to finish it once and for all.

XXX

"What do you mean, Dad's on a hunting trip?"

Dean Winchester sighed, staring into the eyes of first his brother, and then the beautiful woman at his side. Jessica Moore looked up at the man she had helped care for weeks earlier, the man who had been one foot in the grave just last summer. The man who now had a look of determination in his green eyes that was downright terrifying. She could stare someone down just as good as the meanest guy at the bar, and Dean actually found himself glancing downward for a moment. He quickly regained his composure, however, the gravity of the matter outweighing any potential discomfort.

"Like I said, he left me a note, said he was on a hunting trip, and not to expect him. I don't just mean a few days, either. I mean..."

"Yeah." Sam sighed, looked at his fiance. "I'm sorry, Jess, but I need you to excuse us." The blonde looked up at him, slightly irritated at being left out. The desire to call him out, to point out that in a year or so she'd be his damn _wife _hit her; it was on the tip of her tongue to say something. But after a moment she nodded, heading out to the bedroom. "There's a good book I've been meaning to finish," she called over her shoulder. For a moment, Sam watched her leave, and a feeling of guilt threatened to call her back into the room, family business be damned. Why should he have to hide this from her? He was going to marry her, for Christs' sakes. If they were keeping secrets of this magnitude even before their wedding... Sam closed his eyes, the beginnings of a stress headache threatening to explode. He knew damn well that this was one secret he was going to have to keep Jess out of the loop from. Sure, it could lead to a massive shit storm down the road, but it was a risk Sam was willing to make. Anything to keep her free from the supernatural world. There was safety in silence.

"That went well," Dean joked once the brothers were safely out of Jessica's earshot. Sam shot him one of his trademark bitchfaces, and the elder Winchester chuckled faintly. Sam finally broke the awkward silence by reaching out his hand. "Ok, Dean. Let's see it."

"Huh?"

"The note." Sam gave a slightly exasperated sigh, and extended his arm further. "You said Dad left you a note. Not exactly something new for him. So I wanna see it." Nodding, Dean reached into his jacket pocket and pulled up a piece of looseleaf, now crumpled from the constant unfolding and refolding of one who has read over something many times. "Yeah, sure. Guess you figured that Dad wrote a little more than 'I'm going on a hunting trip', huh?"

But Sam said nothing. He stood there, reading the neat script his father had written on the page in horror. The note was short, to the point, just like John Winchester himself, but there was a horrible tone of finality in those words, as if he were saying goodbye:

_Boys,_

_I hate leaving you like this. But I'm close to getting whatever killed your mom. This is gonna end soon. Dean, take care of your brother. Not that I need to even ask you that. You've been watchin' Sammy since you were four. And Sam. I know I've never really said it to you, but I'm proud of you, son. I know we always kinda butted heads when you were growing up, but I want you to know it was to keep you safe. You probably don't understand now, but someday, son, you will. Keep your heads up, boys. See you around,_

_Dad._

Was that really their father? Could he have honestly written something like this? Sam stared at the paper in shock, unbelieving that their father could have ever written anything like this. John Winchester had never had a sympathetic bone in his body. Maybe he had talked like that to their mom before the fire, but this... this was _not_ the John Winchester he knew: that either of them knew.

"Yeah, weird, isn't it?"

Sam looked up, saw his brother nodding his head slightly in agreement. "Read that god knows how many times since I found it. It's Dad's handwriting and all..."

"But there's no way Dad could have written something like this."

Dean nodded again. "Definitely. It sounded like something from a chick flick. But definitely not Dad. Something's up, for sure. Not sure what yet, but I have a bad feeling about this."

"Yeah, me too." Sam glanced once again at the note, eyes wandering across the page. Dean was right. This was definitely John Winchester's handwriting. So either someone had forced him to write this, or something terrible had happened. Was he sick? Had he been so all this time, and neither brother had noticed? Of course, Sam's mind had been on his brother's own illness, and would have likely not noticed anything wrong with their dad, but still...

"The good thing is, though, Dad did leave us a clue here."

Sam thought a moment, and then nodded in agreement. "He's chasing the thing that killed mom. He said something about it being a demon."

"And demons tend to leave a pretty obvious paper trail behind 'em."

"And the only thing that sounded like Dad was when he mentioned that he had a lead on what killed Mom. So he's gonna be hunting it down. Making it easy for you to track down."

"Yeah, about that..."

Sam's eyes suddenly narrowed. Dean wasn't seriously suggesting he go with him, right? Just drop everything he had worked for and just go with him? No. It wasn't happening. Especially now when his life was finally getting back to normal.

"Dean, you know I can't go with you, right? I'm going back to school. I'm getting married. I said I left the life, and I meant it."

"Sam. I need your help, man. Dad could be in trouble, could need our help. We can't just abandon him like this."

"Like he abandoned you when you were sick."

Dean froze, eyes narrowed. A look of pure anger flashed across his face, one Sam had rarely seen growing up unless directed on one of the creatures he hunted. To Sam's surprise, his brother grabbed at the collar of his shirt, pinning him to the wall. "Don't you _dare_ pull that card, Sam," he hissed, green eyes bright with anger. "He was there in the end. Sure, he wasn't there twenty-four- fucking seven, but in the end, he was there, all right? So don't you _ever _talk like that about Dad, you got me?"

"Why do you always idolize that man, huh? What did he ever do to us, to _you,_ other than train us to be soldiers in his war? It's nothing but revenge, man." For a moment, Dean looked as if he were about to punch him. But a moment later, he relaxed his grip on his brother and leaned against the wall beside him. "Look man, I get it," he admitted. "You two didn't exactly see eye to eye. But this is Dad we're talking about. He could be hurt, or worse. And we have a chance to do something about it. And yeah, I get it if you want to stay here with Jess. Have that apple pie life or whatever. But he's our family, Sam. We can't just ditch him."

Sam opened his mouth in protest, once again about to remind Dean of how their father had been almost too little, too late when he had been on death's door. But after a moment, he simply nodded his head. "I can help you research," he finally conceded. "But that's about it. I can't involve Jess in this shit, Dean. I love her and I'm not about to risk her life when Dad's probably fine anyways."

"You don't really believe that, Sam," Dean mumbled. But he nodded his agreement, relishing in this small victory. If he could convince his brother to research what was going on, that was a small step into his ultimate goal: for Sam to join him on the hunt for their dad. That would likely prove to be tough, if not next to impossible, but it was a start at least. He grinned as he watched his brother pull out his laptop, firing up the device, and helped himself to the kitchen for a beer. It felt good to finally be able to enjoy one, his cancer diagnosis having preventing him from indulging. Grabbing one for his brother, Dean popped the top and downed a generous swig before handing one to his brother. "Gonna be a long night, Sammy," he said, pulling up a chair. "We've got work to do."


	2. Chapter 2

Paste your docum

**First of all, I am ashamed as of how late this update has been. I have had massive computer issues (needed a total clean out and had to wait for the money to do that) plus I have had some personal issues which made this sequel a little hard to write. After writing the prequel, a cancer fic, someone within my family was diagnosed, and since, died, of a cancer similar to that of Dean's (only in this case it was the kidney and not the liver). Needless to say, writing the sequel has been very trying. Thank you so much for your patience and I hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter Two**

"Hey, Dean. Check this out."

Dean looked up from his text, rubbing his tired eyes. He'd never been one for research, and he could definitely not pull off the hours of time Sam spent behind the computer or nose deep in a book, even when he was sleep deprived. It was long past lunch, and the majority of the library's patrons had left for a quick bite. Stretching and taking of sip of long cold coffee, Dean leaned against the oak table to see what his brother had discovered.

"We know that we've been seeing a pattern of demonic activity in the state," Sam began, scooting closer to his brother with the newspaper. "Cattle mutilations, weird weather patterns, the usual MO." Dean nodded, looking impatient, and Sam rolled his eyes, continuing. "Tornadoes on the west coast, sudden drought in the middle of October, that kind of thing."

"Sounds rather demonic, but we already knew that, Sam." The younger Winchester nodded in agreement, and continued. "But there's more to it. Look." He pushed the paper aside, pointing to a weather map." The signs are initially in the eastern part of the state, closer to the Nevada border. And there's usually a rest period between. Two, sometimes three weeks. But lately, the omens are moving west. And the further to the coast, the faster the frequency of this demon. Whatever it wants, it's increasing in intensity. And if you follow the pattern…." Sam pulled a text towards him and followed traced the pathway with the tip of his pen, tapping the epicenter rather grimly. "The demon's on the way here, Dean."

"You sure?" Sam nodded, and Dean noticed the worry in his hazel eyes. "It's almost the 2nd, Dean, and that thing that killed Mom is heading this way…"

"But you can't be sure it wants you. California's a huge state, and Palo Alto is a fairly large city." But Dean knew that any words of comfort would, for the first time in years, fall on deaf ears. Sure, Dean Winchester was no Rhodes scholar, had passed high school only with a GED, but rarely did his gut feelings fail him. And he was terribly afraid that Sam's hypothesis was a correct one.

"So, we take some precautions. Salt and ward the shit out of your apartment. Who cares if Jess questions you," at Sam's rather rueful glance, "she's gonna find out sooner or later if you marry her. May as well be now. I promise, Sam, we're gonna find Dad, and we're gonna gank the sonofabitch who killed Mom." Sam nodded, and Dean smiled, patting his brother on the shoulder. "Good. Not let's blow this place and get something to eat. I'm starving."

XXX

"Um, what exactly are you doing, Dean?"

Jessica was standing in the open door of the bathroom, watching as Dean poured a generous amount of salt on the window sill. For a moment, he ignored her, concentrating on ensuring a thick, even layer of the condiment along the ledge. A moment later, satisfied with the result, he closed the tab on the salt box and turned to his brother's fiancée. "Protection."

"I'm sorry, but I don't see how you wasting table salt is really going to protect me."

"Salt's a purifier. Keeps all the dark shit out. Demons, spirits, that sort of thing."

Jess nodded her head, but still looked confused. "How much did Sammy tell you, Jessica?"

"Just that some demon who killed your mother might be heading this way." She tried to brush it off, act casual, but Dean could tell that the young woman was worried. "He said something about this stuff, but I kind of tuned out after the whole homicidal demon bit."

Dean nodded in understanding. "Yeah, it's kinda hard to believe, huh?"

"Uh, maybe just a little." But Jess was smiling faintly, and Dean retuned it with a small grin of his own. Again, he realized just how lucky his younger brother was to have a woman as great as Jessica Moore. While some may have completely lost their cool at the news that the supernatural really did exist, Jess seemed to be handling the situation quite well. She was frightened, and rightfully so. To dismiss the truth as hogwash, or deny it, could be a matter of life and death. Hysterics were also dangerous; on a few occasions Dean had nearly been hurt badly, even killed, by a civilian who had totally lost control.

"This stuff needs to be around any area where a demon could come in. Doorframes, window sills. Plus we need to draw some of these around here too. It's called a devil's trap." Dean handed Jess a slip of paper with one of the traps carefully drawn on it. "Once a demon steps into one of those things, it can't get out. You need to be sneaky, though. No demon's gonna just walk right into one. So we try to hide them under mats, on the ceiling above doors, in invisible ink."

Jess looked down at the image on the sheet, closed her eyes. "This is unbelievable."

"Yeah, well you better believe it, 'cause if Sam's right, this thing is heading this way."

For a moment, the young woman hesitated, and Dean thought that she might finally lose her cool. But a moment later, she looked up, grim determination in her eyes. This was scary as hell, but there was no way she could leave Sam, or even Dean. _For better or for worse, Jess. And this definitely falls under the 'for worse' category._

.

XXX

The demon with the yellow eyes watched from the shadows, a look of contempt on his vessel's face. Not surprisingly, the Winchesters had pinpointed his next move. Were warding Sam's apartment at this very moment. For a moment, he cursed himself for his foolishness. Of course they'd figure it out. They were John Winchester's boys, after all. His trail had been far from obscure. But in retrospect, the demon was actually pleased. It would be far too easy to just drop in unannounced. This would be the perfect opportunity for a little game of cat and mouse. The demon would just have to lure the lovely damsel away from their little love nest. It wouldn't take too much. The girl had to work eventually; while the cost of the older Winchester's cancer treatment had been for the most part covered, the love birds had had other expenses to deal with. It would be then when he'd make his move.

XXX

It was well after midnight when John finally checked in to his latest cheap motel and dropped his duffel on the floor at the foot of his bed. He was exhausted, but knew that there would be little sleep that night. The demon was somewhere in southern California, and he had a good feeling that its next stop would be Palo Alto. And if his suspicions were correct, Sam could very well be in serious trouble. He was still a few hours out of the city limits, and he wanted desperately to continue the drive, but exhaustion was overwhelming, to the point where he'd nearly ditched his truck a few times. Frustrated, John pulled off his boots and collapsed on his bed, willing himself to at least grab an hour or two of rest. But as tired as he was, the hunter was unable to sleep. Without fail, just as he would drift off, an image of Mary, burning on the ceiling, would flash before him, followed by those of his sons, lying in pools of their own blood, abdomens slashed by the demon.

On several occasions, he thought of calling his boys, to give them a fair warning of the threat. At one point, he had actually picked up the phone, thumb posed above the send button. Eventually, he decided against the idea. His deal would be coming due sooner than John would care to admit, and there was no way his sons were going to learn the truth; they'd only try to come up with a plan to break the deal, and that was out of the question. As soon as either one of them broke the contract, he'd be in Hell in his stead. But, in all honesty, he also couldn't bear to see his sons one last time. It would be too much for him to handle, enough to perhaps even make him try to come up with some last minute stay of execution. And then _both_ of his boys would be downstairs. Not happening. With a sigh, John tossed the phone on his night stand, burying his face in the pillow. His boys were smart; he'd raised them well. They'd figure out what John had already discovered, right?

Finally, just before dawn, he slipped into a restless sleep. And when he finally awakened after only a few hours, John Winchester was once again on the road.

ent here...


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The first rays of morning sunshine were peeking through the blinds when Jess awakened beside her fiancé. Slowly she sat up, rubbing the tension from her neck as she stole a glance at the empty spot on the bed where Sam should have been sleeping. No surprise that he was up already; he'd always been an early riser, and considering the stress he was going through, he'd probably already been awake for hours. Sighing, Jess pulled aside her blankets, grabbed her robe, and made her way to the kitchen.

Sure enough, Sam and Dean were already awake, each nursing mugs of coffee and looking as if they'd hadn't had a solid night's rest in years. Jess noted that, for all his bravado, Dean looked nearly as bad as he had when he'd first arrived months earlier, when he'd finally admitted he had cancer. _And this is how they grew up,_ she thought sadly, watching as the two men in her life read through newspapers, texts. Sam was scrolling through an article on his laptop, occasionally sipping from his mug of now lukewarm coffee before returning to his reading. In any other setting it would look as if he were researching for a paper, or scrolling the internet for job opportunities. Not searching for info on demons. Once again, she felt a pang of pity for the pair. The night before, after dropping the bombshell that, for the most part, the supernatural crap she'd seen in cheesy horror movies was real, Sam had confided in the shitty childhood he and Dean had had. Sitting on the edge of their bed, Jess wiped the moisture from her eyes as the man she loved shared of how his mom had really died. She'd known Mary Winchester had died in a house fire, but not much else. She'd shuddered in spite of herself to hear of how she'd been pinned to the ceiling, already dying slowly from the slash across her abdomen, before bursting into flame. She'd heard of how Sam's dad had raised his boys to hunt monsters, and how Dean had shielded his little brother from the truth until he was eight; how the boys were basically raised in crappy motels in all corners of the United States while John was away on hunts, and how money had gotten tight at least once a month. She'd nearly wept to hear of the many occasions Dean would go hungry so that Sam would have something to eat. Jess had felt overwhelmed with gratitude, and an even deeper respect and love for her brother-in-law.

When Sam had finally finished, Jess had been openly crying. Slowly, she drew him in for a hug, massaging the tension from his shoulders as warm, salty tears gently dampened his button down. And that night, when the hours slipped away without sleep, she was haunted by images of a little, curly haired boy eating a peanut butter sandwich from the last slices of stale bread while his older brother spooned some of the remaining spread from the nearly empty jar. Hours later, when finally sheer exhaustion led her into fitful sleep, she dreamed of fire, blood, and that same little curly haired boy, sitting alone, huddled in blankets, surrounded by the very things which killed his mother.

"Morning."

Dean's gravelly voice snapped Jess back to reality. Yawning, the young woman returned the greeting with the same lack of enthusiasm and headed for the cupboard for a mug. "You guys been awake long?" she asked, reaching for the carafe and pouring what little was left into her cup.

"Couple hours."

Jess nodded, leaning against the cupboard as she sipped her coffee and made a slight face. The stuff was disgusting, obviously at least a few hours old. But it was hot and caffeinated, so she sipped her drink and watched as her men continued to research. "Find anything?"

"No, not really," Sam replied, pushing his chair back and stretching. "In fact, there seems to be a lull in demonic activity. The calm before the storm, that kinda thing. I have a really bad feeling the demon knows we're on to him."

"You think it's laying low?"

Sam sighed. "Looks like."

"Great. Just fucking peachy." The Winchesters stared at her, surprised by how just like Dean she had sounded there, but Jess ignored them. "So, what do you suggest? Go back to normal? Hope the thing's gone?"

The brothers exchanged glances and Jessica sighed. "Spill it, boys. I just found out not twenty-four hours earlier that monsters are real and that my fiancé has been hunting them for practically all his life. Bring it."

Dean cleared his throat, obviously looking uncomfortable. "Um, Jess, these guys are really patient. If they want their guy, they will do whatever it takes to get it. Not to mention it's, well…" Jess nodded, knowing full well what Dean was about to say. November 2nd was a few days away. The anniversary of their mother's death. Which meant…

"Oh." She looked down at her barely touched coffee, no longer interested in finishing it. "So we think you should kinda lay low for a few days. At least until after the 2nd."

"Dean, I can't just stay here. I have to work tonight."

"Call in sick."

"Tell that to my boss. He's a hard ass as it is and I already used up my sick leave when I had the flu last month."

"Jess…"

"I can't just drop everything, you know. I have a life. And I refuse to let this demon or whatever the hell it is keep me from living it, ok? I'm going to work tonight."

"You don't get it, Jessica! This thing is very dangerous! It killed my mother, not to mention god knows how many others. If it finds you, it will kill you because you're connected to us! So get off your fucking high horse for just one goddamned minute and understand that we are trying to save your ass!" For a minute, Jessica stared at Dean, overwhelmed with anger. How dare he talk to her like that! At the other end of the room, Dean was also seeing red, frustrated by how little Jessica seemed to be taking the situation seriously. And beside him, Sam was struggling between the need to punch his brother in the face for the way he had yelled at her and shaking Jess for being so stubborn and hopelessly naïve.

After a few tense moments, Dean looked down, obviously embarrassed. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "It's just that this is a very dangerous situation, and it needs to be taken seriously. I get that you have a life, but if that demon lays so much as a finger on you, I'd never forgive myself." At that, Jess visibly softened, her own anger under control. "I understand," she said softly. "I get that you care for me, need to protect me. But you have to realize that I just can't drop everything on a dime like you can. I have classes, commitments, friends who aren't going to understand when I go off the grid." She sighed, setting her untouched coffee on the counter top. "But I don't really have a choice, don't I?" She looked at Sam, who shook his head sadly. "No, honey, not really. I don't want to do this, either. But it's only for a little while. Until we get the demon."

"I'm sorry we have to do this, Jess," Dean continued gently. Jess nodded, blinking away the tears which threatened to spill. She hated the fact that she was on the verge of bawling like a baby. She wasn't the one with the shitty childhood, after all. What Sam and Dean had gone through growing up was something she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy. What right had she to cry, she who had had the stereotypical perfect American dream type childhood? She'd had the perfect suburban life, with cookouts and trips to summer camp and Saturdays at the mall with her friends. She'd had the huge Thanksgiving dinners and Christmases with the entire clan at her Nannie and Poppy's place. Sam and Dean had not even had birthdays, other than the few Dean had managed to scrounge for his little brother when he was old enough. _Enough with the pity part, Moore. It's only temporary._

"Okay, so what's the plan?"

"We wait here for a few days, see if the demon really is gone, of if it's just a ruse. As soon as it's safe, we'll take you to your parent's place. You said something about them vacationing in Florida, right?" Jess nodded slowly, shuddering at the thought of leaving warm, sunny California for her parent's home in Vermont. "Yeah, they spend the winter there. Have their own condo."

"Perfect. We can ward the place and everything without having to worry."

Jessica sighed, listening as the Winchester brothers began making plans for their cross country trip to Fairfax. She had her own preparations to do for this new so called adventure: she had to somehow get a leave of absence from work or, with any luck, arrange for a transfer. Demon or now, there was no way Jessica Moore was going to sit on her ass doing absolutely nothing for god knows how long. She had to withdraw from her semester at Stanford, pack up the apartment. The wedding would have to be postponed. Granted, Sam had proposed only a month earlier, but Jess, in all the excitement of the event, had already booked the venue for the ceremony and reception. The odds were (though it was possible it was only wishful thinking) that this mess would be over long before the date, but Sam had told her gently the night before that it would be best to put the wedding plans on hold for a bit. Swallowing the lump forming beneath her throat, Jess put on a brave face. It was by now long past sunrise, and she had a feeling her boys were hungry. Wiping her eyes on final time with the back of her sleeve, Jessica Moore rummaged through the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs, bacon, and pancake fixings. _Well, Jess. This looks like your new life. Better get used to it._

XXX

Lucy Barlow looked at the man before her, trying to fight the panic as she stood pinned to the wall of her apartment. The man with the strange, yellow eyes stood a few feet ahead of her, toying with the blade in his hand. "Lucy, Lucy, Lucy," he tisked, slowly walking in her direction. "I thought we had a deal. You tell me where the Moore girl is, and you get that scholarship to Oxford you've been pining for." Terrified, Lucy stared at the stranger, unable to move. She hadn't really believed the man when he'd approached her with his bargain. Sure, she'd been dying to attend the prestigious institution from the moment she'd first dreamed of becoming a professor of ancient history back in the eleventh grade. But she hadn't really believed the man would actually hurt Jessica Moore. If anything, Lucy had assumed he was a relative of hers, long out of touch and looking to reconnect. Now, staring into those horrific, pale yellow eyes, Lucy Barlow was terrified not only for her life, but of her friend's.

The man was now visibly impatient. "We had a deal," he sneered. You tell me where Jessica Moore is, and I just might let you live. You don't? I'll make sure you're awake to feel the guts slowly spill onto the floor." As if to prove a point, the stranger gently pointed the tip of his blade just above the waist of her jeans. Fighting the urge to scream, Lucy winced at the cold steel against her bare stomach, the blade slightly cutting into her skin as he drew it upwards, sliding it up to gently press against the edge of her white knit crop top. "So what's it gonna be, sweetheart?"

"Vermont," she gasped, trembling in terror. "She grew up in Fairfax. Said something about her parents spending the winters down south. Please, don't kill me." The demon drew the knife away, smiling slightly. "Good girl."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Well, it has been fou**r **months, but I am finally back to continue with this story. Now that the computer is up and running, I can actually post stuff! :D Anyway, I am deeply ashamed of how late this is, and I apologize for dropping this. I completely understand if anyone has given up on this, but I hope that I can at least entertain the rest! So here is chapter four.**

**Chapter Four**

_The one you call Yellow Eyes. If you want your precious son to live, you're to let him go. And no, your sons aren't going to hunt him, either. The minute Azaezel dies, Dean dies. Clear?_

John's eyes snapped open and he shot up in his bed, gasping, face drenched in sweat. Outside the window of his crappy motel, the dim light of a street lamp seeped through the venetian blinds, casting eerie shadows on his bed. Massaging the bridge of his nose tiredly (a habit Sam had since picked up), he glanced at his alarm, the red digits reading **2:24 AM.**

The dream had been recurring for a few weeks now. A play by play of those moments with the crossroads demon before sealing the deal. At first, John had played by the rules, avoiding Yellow Eyes like the plague. That had been one of his conditions, after all. And technically, he had not had contact with the demon. True, it was because he was usually one step behind, and not his avoidance, but for the past few months, he seemed to have been getting away with continuing the hunt without dire consequences for himself, or Dean. John Winchester was playing with fire (quite literally) and he knew that it was only a matter of time before he or his sons were burned. But at the same time, other families would meet a fate similar to theirs if Yellow Eyes wasn't stopped.

Sighing, John switched on the bedside lamp and reached through the latest stack of documents. The room, his home base while in California, was riddled with newspaper clippings, articles printed from websites, photographs of potential victims. If anyone were to check up on him, there would be a lot of explaining to do. But that was the least of John's concerns at the moment. As he researched, his dream replayed in his mind, constantly nagging him of the consequences of continuing the hunt. He knew that direct contact with Azaezel would be a risk too great for him to take, but he also knew damn well that keeping him alive was not an option either. He'd been pressing his luck as it was, and fortunate that the demon's direct turn to California had not happened earlier.

There was always Bobby.

Bobby Singer had always been a good and trustworthy friend: and while that friendship had been severely tested (and nearly severed) when he had pointed his shotgun at the older man, John knew that he would trust Bobby with his life: and the lives of his sons. He'd been supportive following Dean's cancer diagnosis, offering financial assistance (and, as the grizzled hunter had later told him, provide a swift kick in the ass to his stubborn first born), had always been the first to offer his babysitting expertise despite his fear of raising children of his own. And there were always the connections. While John was reluctant to drop the whole thing on Bobby, he had remembered hearing of a good friend of his. The Winchester patriarch had never met this man named Rufus, but from what Bobby had told him, he was a good hunter. A part of him felt guilty: capable or not, the Yellow Eyed Demon was one tough sonofabitch, and putting Rufus in charge of taking him down was dangerous to say the least. But despite his fears of jeopardizing Bobby's friend, if he were to admit it, John Winchester was actually pissed about having to hand over years of research. Could he really, in all honesty, just hand over years of research to a stranger, regardless of his connections? Sure, Bobby could vouch for the guy, just as he could for Caleb or any of _his_ close ties in the hunting community.

But telling Bobby would also mean admitting that he had made a deal in the first place. Not exactly the wisest move on his part. John closed his eyes, clearly hearing the older hunter's voice bitching him out for his decision. _You dumbass, what the hell do were you thinking? Sellin' yer soul for that boy? How do you think he's gonna feel when he finds out, ye idgit?_

"I was doing it for Dean." Of course, there was no response. And even if Singer were here, no amount of justification could convince him that John had made the right call. "He's my boy."

John leaned back on his bed, staring at the clutter pinned to the motel walls. He couldn't just give it up, not when he was so close. But he couldn't risk Dean's relapse, either. And he had no clue whatsoever what the demon's plans were for Sam. For several minutes he lay there, mentally calculating the pros and cons of both scenarios.

Twenty minutes later he was on the phone to Sioux Falls.

XXX

It was still dark when the Impala pulled into the drive of the log cabin, the clock on Dean's cell reading 1:45 AM. In the back, Jess was asleep, exhausted from the long drive, late hour, and emotional stress. And who could really blame her? The girl had been basically abandoned her home, friends, education. Not to mention the fact that she had learned the truth of the Family Business. It was enough to make anyone, even tough as nails Jessica, overwhelmed. Dean sighed inwardly as he cut the engine, glanced over to where his gigantic younger brother was slouched against the passenger door, also seemingly asleep. God, the kid had gone through a lot since last June, between this and the cancer shit. Sam needed a break for once. And he was just as exhausted as his fiancée. For a moment, he considered letting him sleep, guiding him and Jess to a bed while he did all the warding. But Sam would never let him hear the end of that one.

"Hey, Sammy," he called softly, gently shaking his brother until the taller man sat up, gingerly massaging his stiff neck. "Take it we're here?" he muttered sleepily, yawning as he straightened himself out.

"Yeah. Was gonna wake you earlier but figured you needed your beauty sleep."

"Shut up." Dean chuckled, reached behind him to wake Jess. "Rise and shine, sweetheart. _Casa de Winchester_ is open for business."

Several minutes later, the trio had lugged their possessions into the cabin, a roaring flame burning in the fireplace. Just as Dean had expected, Sam immediately got to work on warding the place, and the elder Winchester couldn't help but smile. Domesticated or not, the kid still knew the game. Once a hunter, always a hunter. But the smile quickly faded as Jess' diamond reflected in the firelight. The job was not one for relationships, his father and Bobby had provided more than enough proof on that matter. Trying to push the thought away, Dean grabbed a can of spray paint and went to work. The sooner the cabin was secured, the sooner they all could try to get some sleep.

XXX

Maybe if she hadn't been so tired, it wouldn't have happened.

Maybe if the salt line had been a little thicker, or perhaps a detail in the devil's trap had been slightly off. Maybe if he'd opened up to hear about hunting, had given her a little goddamned warning, none of this would have happened.

All Sam Winchester knew was that in the morning, he and Dean had left to go for a supply run, and when they returned, life as he'd known it had ceased to exist, gone like the spark of a dying flame. Not one hour earlier, he'd kissed his sleeping fiancée goodbye before rousing his brother and heading out to town. Now, an hour later, they had returned to a seemingly empty cabin, and a familiar reek of rotten eggs permeating through every room. Sam felt his heart pounding in his chest, the bag of groceries crashing to the floor._ Jess. Where was she?_ Beside him, Dean already had his gun drawn, ready to cover his brother should he do something completely reckless; and sure enough, within seconds Sam was running through their so called refuge, screaming her name, all the while praying that he wasn't too late. _The place still smells of sulphur, we weren't gone that long, maybe she's still ok. Please, god, let her be ok._

They found her in the bedroom, still dressed in her nightie, screaming as some unseen force pulled her up the faux log walls as if she were a child's toy. At the other end of the room was a young brunette about Jess' age, focused on the task before her. She seemed like the average college student, dressed in a pale blue sweater, swede jacket and jeans, dark hair pulled up in a messy bun. The only thing evil about her was her eyes, a strange, pale yellow, like those of a wild animal. The brothers burst into the room and Sam finally drew his own weapon, and the demon paused in her work, turning to the intruders. Before them, Jess froze in mid ascension, screaming for Sam between sobs of terror.

"Well, well, look what the cat drug in," she purred, smiling vindictively at the boys. Seconds later, both brothers were flung across the room like rag dolls, the demon laughing menacingly while Jess continued to scream and thrash on the wall, trying to free herself from the demon's grip. For a moment, both brothers remained motionless, and despite the immediate threat to her own life, Jessica feared that both Sam and Dean were dead. It terrified her to think of dying at the hands of the paranormal, but to think of her fiancé and his brother, the one she loved almost as much as Sam, was too much. Drawing as deep a breath as she could despite being pinned to a goddamned wall, Jessica steadied her nerves, trying to settle the pounding of her heart. _You can do this, Moore. You're tough, you're smart. You can do this. _She opened her mouth to speak, ready to draw the attention away from the brothers and to herself, at least long enough for one of them to come to.

Only to find herself completely mute.

_Fuck. Of course._ By now, an intense anger threatened to overshadow her terror. How dare this sonofabitch, wearing _her _friend's body, go after her family? No way was she going down without a fight. The demon noticed the anger in her blue green eyes, and actually laughed. "Oh, Jessica, you always were a spitfire," she taunted. "I can totally see what Sammy sees in you." Jess opened her mouth to protest, and sighed in frustration upon remembering that she couldn't even be granted the luxury of a smart ass comment before death. Because she knew that she wasn't getting out of this one alive. Hopefully Sam and Dean would, they had more experience, but she was a goner. But that didn't mean that she wasn't about to go down without a fight.

Just then, a low moan from the corner alerted the demon's attention. Slowly, she turned around in time to see Sam slowly sit up, rubbing the back of his head and blinking the fog from his eyes. For a moment, he was disoriented, trying to calculate just what the fuck was going on, and why he and his brother were passed out in the corner. But one sight of the demon and Jess struggling against the wall snapped his brain back into attention. "Let her go," he hissed, and immediately began to recite the familiar Latin verses of an exorcism. The demon simply rolled her eyes, and within seconds, Sam was also pinned against the wall, rendered mute. "I always thought Dean was the big talker in the family. Guess it's you with the big mouth, Sammy." She clicked her tongue and stole a glance at Dean, who was also shaking off the effects of his latest bump on the head. "I think I remember reading that it was only Sammy who memorized all that Latin. And I'm pretty sure there's no book for you to look it up."

"You sonofabitch. Let them go."

"Oh, Dean. You think I'm just going to do that? And spoil the fun? At first, I thought I wouldn't even get in, even if I am wearing lover girl's former roommate." She smiled, admiring herself as if she were a fine wine. "She was a looker, though. Someone the likes of you wouldn't mind spending a night with."

"Fuck you."

"My, my. And I always thought Dean Winchester to be a gentleman. Guess that just shows that you can't always believe everything that you hear. And just for that…." Dean gasped as he, too, was thrown to the wall. "I'm going to let you two watch. I have to change things up a bit now, wasn't planning on you yahoos walking in on us, but _c'est la vie._ Besides, it might be kinda fun."

"No! Don't!" But it was too late. The demon's eyes flashed back to that eerie yellow before she turned around, brandishing a very sharp blade from the pocket of her coat. Before either brother had a chance to react, she turned and thrust the weapon in Jess's stomach, the young woman crying out wordlessly in agony as the demon twisted the blade viciously a few times before pulling it out. At the other end of the room, Dean shouted the young woman's name in horror, while Sam could only scream silently, cheeks streaked with tears and sweat. The demon turned to them, grinning wickedly, before smoking out, the vessel's body collapsing, lifeless, to the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

"NO!"

Dean had heard his younger brother cry out on more occasions than he would care to admit, usually when Dean was under the grip of some sort of monster or spirit. He'd recognize the panic bubbling to the surface, terror that under normal circumstances Sam was able to (relatively) control. To be a hunter meant to keep a level head, even in times of crisis. But when it came to family, most bets were off when it came to making rational decisions, or controlling rising panic. All three Winchesters were guilty of that one; it was a family curse. In fact, it actually rather surprised Dean how Sam had been able to deal with his cancer and near death. If the shoe had been on the other foot, there was no way to be sure Dean would have handled the situation.

But this… seeing the agony on Sam's face as Jessica's lifeless body slid to the floor in a heap… and able to do nothing about it. The demon had lifted the gag on Sam's speech, but both Winchesters were still pinned to the wall, helpless to stop the attack. At the demon's feet, Jessica clutched at her wound, blood soaking through her shirt and staining her hands, gasping for breath. And seconds later, he was sliding to the floor again as the demon smoked out, its vessel dropping to the ground with a soft thud.

In seconds Sam was at her side, crying Jess' name over and over, pulling off his button down in hopes of stopping some of the bleeding. Dean was at his side, keys to the Impala in hand. "We gotta go, Sammy," he muttered. She needs a hospital. Sam knew that, and had it been anyone else, would have likely fired back with a slightly sarcastic "no kidding." But this was Jess… _his Jessica, _the woman he was going to marry. _Am still going to marry._ But he could only nod in agreement as he scooped the woman in his arms and hurried to the Impala behind his brother. Jess, still conscious, was moaning in pain, fighting off the desire to slip into merciful unconsciousness. Sensing that, Sam muttered, "No way, Jess. You're not passing out on me, got it? Stay awake for me, babe." Jess nodded weakly, coughing faintly.

Dean slid behind the wheel of the Impala, Sam settling in the back with Jess beside him. The blood seeping from the wound was growing larger, and the young man paled. This looked really bad. _She could die from this. I could lose her. She's dying._

_Shut the fuck up, Winchester._ There was no time for self-pity, not now. Beside him, Jess was still breathing, but more harried. _Focus on that. She's still breathing. She's still alive. It will be ok. Everything's going to be ok._

Sam hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud until he heard a faint voice in response. "Ok…" Another cough and chortled gasp for breath and Sam realized in horror that the knife had more than likely penetrated the diaphragm. "Dean, you need to hurry. She's having trouble breathing." In response, Dean pressed his foot even more on the gas pedal. "Hospital is half an hour away, Sammy."

"I don't know if she has that long. You gotta hurry!"

"S'm." In a voice so faint, slurred, Sam had almost missed it.

"Don't talk, Jess. Save your strength. Everything is going to be ok, it's gonna be fine."

"I.. love you, S'm."

"Stop talking like that." But Sam could feel the tears pooling in his eyes, and he blinked them back. He couldn't let her see him cry. "We'll get you to the hospital, patch you up…" but Jess squeezed his hand faintly. "Bullshit," she whispered. "You always….were… a bad…liar." To this, Sam had no answer. So he held her hand, talked to her of other things. Of graduation, his hopes of law school, wedding plans. The last was more than a little macabre, but he wanted Jessica to stay awake, and if that meant talking about a wedding that could very likely not even happen, then so be it. When the Impala finally pulled to a stop at the ER, Sam had never been more relieved. Jess was still awake (though barely), and in moments, was whisked away by doctors to the OR. Sam could only stand in stunned silence, Dean by his side, as the doors to the operating theatre closed with a soft thud behind them.

XXX

Jessica Moore was in a wedding gown.

She couldn't understand. One minute she was in a cabin in Vermont, and now she was in Oceanside, California, in her old childhood bedroom. She was dressed in complete bridal regalia, right down to the blue garter on her thigh. Confused, she looked at her refection in the vanity mirror and saw a gorgeous ball gown, strapless, with a sweetheart neckline and full, ruffled skirt, her face shrouded by a misty veil. Not typically the gown she would have chosen, she was more into sexy and sleek rather than the stereotypical princess type. But she remembered how her mother had oogled over this particular gown when the two had browsed through bridal magazines before Sam had even proposed. On the dresser beside her was a beautiful bouquet of pink, white, and red tulips. _Because roses are lame,_ she thought with a smile. She could hear Sam's voice in her head saying those very words, and for some reason she couldn't understand, she choked up.

Outside her window, the rain poured in torrents, heavy sheets almost pounding against the glass. The wind howled in the trees outside, scratching at the pain like a creature from a horror movie. _Funny. I always thought it was good luck to rain on your wedding day. But it looks like a hurricane out there. _Cautiously, she pulled back the lace curtains and peered out into the back yard. Sure enough, gale force winds were practically bending the palm trees outside in half. The sea which had lulled her to sleep as a child, even on stormy nights, was suddenly ominous and very threatening. Jessica shuddered, pulling the curtains closed again. Silently, she reached for the bouquet and left the bedroom, walking along the hallway to the stairs. The house, normally filled with noise on any typical day, let alone one of the Moore girls' wedding day, was eerily silent. No smell of breakfast on the stove or of coffee brewing; no giggles from her two younger sisters running around in the living room, bare feet muffled on the carpet; no barking of the family dog, Odie, or her father's annoyed snapping of him to "shuddup or I'll put you outside." Her dad had never been a dog person, unlike her fiancé. It was her mom who had convinced him to adopt him as a puppy from the local shelter.

Quietly, almost anxiously, Jess made her way downstairs, high heels digging slightly into the thick carpet. As expected, the living room was deserted, so she made her way to the kitchen, heart pounding in her chest. As expected, there was no sign of her family… but standing near the back door, covered in blood, stood Sam, a young blonde woman in his arms. And as the girl in his arms turned her head, Jessica Moore realized to her horror that the dying woman in Sam's arms was herself…

XXX

Sam hated waiting rooms. As hunter's kids, he and Dean had found themselves sitting on those uncomfortable chairs on more occasions than either would care to remember. In early years, it was with Bobby Singer, waiting on word whether or not their father would make it from a hunt gone south. Once they got older, Sam or Dean themselves would find themselves hospitalized a time or two because of the job; and there were the typical kid issues too, like pneumonia, Dean's acute appendicitis. And there was the last time, not all that long ago, when he had come so close to losing Dean. And now, not even a year later, he was in another waiting room, waiting to hear if his fiancée would live or die. Exhausted, Sam leaned back in his seat, head buried in his hands. Beside him, Dean was trying his best to be comforting, occasionally patting his brother gently on the knee. Showing affection was a rare occurrence for either Winchester, and Dean wasn't sure if a firm hug would be appropriate at the moment. So instead he continued with the occasional taps, alternating between the shoulder and knee, hoping that these simple gestures were at least providing some comfort. And after a while, they did calm his freakishly tall younger brother, to the point where the shaking in his broad shoulders began to slightly relax.

But when fifteen minutes later, when the doctor announced that Jess, his beautiful Jessica, had died on the table, he didn't push away when Dean pulled his brother in for a hug. Dean held his brother like a child, rubbing his back in small circles as he had done when his kid brother was little, as Sam sobbed into his chest. It was like that for a few minutes, with one Winchester crying his eyes out while the other tried to provide as much comfort as he could. And when a moment later, an embarrassed Sam pulled away and left the room, Dean didn't follow. He wanted to, but knew that his sibling needed space. Sam had had his moment of what he would no doubt call weakness, and now wanted the comfort of solitude. He couldn't blame him; he'd want the same thing should it have been, god forbid, Sam who had died. So Dean waited, sitting with his head in his hands in a room full of strangers, struggling to control his own emotions. He didn't love Jess like Sam had, there was no doubt of that. And the kid must be going through hell now; but he had loved his brother's fiancée like a sister. She'd opened her heart and home to him when he'd been dying, had loved Sam with all her heart. She'd been a _friend. _

_And it's my fault._ Dean knew it wasn't time for self-pity, but the thought popped into his mind before he could control himself. Of course this was all his fault. If he hadn't suggested hiding out in the cabin (which he had insisted would be safe); if he'd kept his mouth shut about the supernatural; if he'd not gone back to Sam's place after learning about his father….fuck, if he'd not bothered Sam in the first place and just died alone. Yeah, it would have been hard, but watching his brother's fiancée die before him… because of his actions. It was no contest.

But as much as he wanted to indulge in his self-loathing, Dean knew he had to think of Sam. The kid needed his help a lot more at the moment, and the last thing Sam needed as to see his older brother break down. With a sigh, he rose from his chair and headed outside. He knew without even really thinking that he'd find Sam in the Impala; the old car had practically been his home growing up. It had been within its four doors where Sam had shared his first tale of rejection as a fifteen-year-old, when Amanda Hawking had stood him up for his first date; where Dean had taught that same teenager how to drive. It was where he sometimes came to calm down after a major fight with their father. And so it was definitely no surprise when Dean found his younger brother sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala, staring blankly ahead. For a moment, Dean said nothing, not really wanting to interrupt. But after a while, the hunter slid in the driver's seat; he sat there, not bothering to even start her up, and Sam responded with his continued silence, eyes still red from crying. The two sat there for several minutes in a quiet which was somehow not awkward, but comforting.

It was Sam who had finally broken the stillness; Dean watched as his brother turned toward him, a look of anger in his hazel eyes.

"We've got work to do," Sam said.


	6. Chapter 6

**I am so sorry with how late this was posted. I am really struggling with this story, my muse deciding to run and hide. Lol Not to mention the new job is very time consuming and exhausting, so I rarely have the time or the motivation to write something with as much commitment as a chapter fic. I totally understand if many of you have dropped this (I know how annoying it is to start a fic and have the author just stop updating). For those who have stuck around so far, thank you! I will do my very best to keep this one going, but I won't lie. There may be some gaps between updates. If you decide to drop it, again, I totally understand. No hard feelings. For those willing to stick around, thank you again, and I hope that you continue to enjoy and inspire me to keep writing. Thank you again! And as always, I don't own the boys, just borrowing them.**

**Six**

"You stupid sonofabitch."

Bobby Singer's eyes blazed as he stared at the man sitting across from him, the man who looked far older than his fifty-odd years. On the other side of the hunter's desk, John stared back, a look of resolve in his eyes, as stone faced as ever. Many a man would flinch at the acid in Bobby Singer's stern advice. Hell, many hunters, as much as they respected the grizzled old widower, backed away whenever he was pissed. But John was not your ordinary hunter; he'd seen more shit than some of the guys working the job longer. And though he'd been far from looking forward to the rendez-vous with Bobby, he was also one who could stand his own.

"Figured you'd say that," was John's response.

"I figured you was up to no good when that boy recovered. Like nothin's wrong with him." John said nothing at this, and Bobby sighed. At the mention of Dean, John's eyes had softened, and he could see the hint of pain lingering, months after his son's near death experience. He knew John was a hard ass, and had protested the man's methods of raising his boys (_"damn it, John, they're just boys. I don't have no kids but I know damn well that they should be out doin' kid stuff."_); but there was never any doubt that the man loved his boys. The two sat in silence for a moment as Bobby got up, pulled a bottle of Jim Beam from his liquor cabinet, and poured the whiskey into glasses. Wordlessly they sipped their drinks for a minute before John finally spoke up.

"What do you expect, Bobby? He's my son. I couldn't just let him die."

"Do they know?"

For the first time, John's eyes betrayed him as he glanced briefly at the glass still in his hand. The gesture was only brief, and most would not have even recognized it. But Bobby Singer was no fool; could pinpoint almost all of John's subtle tells, despite the many years since their last meeting. "Jesus."

"You seriously think telling the boys is a good idea? Christ, Bobby, they'd try to come up with some plan to get me out of it."

"And how is that a problem?"

John downed the last of his drink, reached for the bottle on the other side of the desk. Bobby said nothing, but raised an eyebrow as his companion refilled his glass, downed half in one swallow, and refilled it again. After yet another generous swig, John finally spoke up.

"If they somehow get me out of the deal, Dean dies. Cancer comes back. And not just the early stages, either. Full blown stage four. So yeah, I'm not going to tell my sons I sold my fucking soul to the devil…"

"…Cause they'd find a way to get you out of it anyways." This time Bobby reached for the now half empty bottle of whiskey. "Jesus," he repeated. He knew those boys, had practically raised them. Hell, sometimes he thought of himself to be more of a daddy to Sam and Dean than the man sitting across from him. He knew of the guilt Dean would carry should he know the truth. Truth be told, he'd probably figure it out on his own regardless. Sure, Sam was the one who excelled academically, while his older brother had thought of himself to be the grunt of the family. On many times Bobby had witnessed the red cheeks of embarrassment as Dean accepted help from his kid brother on homework assignments. But the boy was _far _from stupid. He could take apart and rebuild an engine as effortlessly as one would build Lego towers; had made his own sawed-off by the time he was twelve; hell, as primitive as it looked, that EMF reader he'd built was actually quite remarkable. And he'd _certainly_ figure out in a year's time that his father had made a deal. And once he figured that out, he'd move hell and back to try to reverse it.

"So," John continued, and Bobby blinked. He'd been lost in his thoughts and had almost forgotten the man sitting directly across from him. "I can't do anything directly to go after the demon, either. I think the boys are after it, and I can't risk doing any more myself. Part of my deal was that I'd back off" (Bobby snorted at that) "and I've been pushing my luck on that part." _No surprise there,_ Bobby thought, but wisely said nothing. "So I was hoping you'd know someone, maybe Rufus, who'd want to take over."

At this, Bobby Singer was finally speechless. He stared, incredulous, at his long time "friend," for at least a minute before finally speaking. "Are you out of your fucking mind? Do you honestly think I would send someone out to get their ass kicked by _that_ thing? Jesus Christ, John! It's goddamned suicide!"

"That thing killed Mary," John growled, and Bobby could see the hatred once more flare into the man's eyes. "It's killing other families, too. It has to be stopped. You know that, Bobby."

"And how much of this is protecting other families? Or is it just revenge? I know you like a book, Winchester. Admit it. Most of this is about Mary. And fine. I get it. Losing Karen damn near killed me. But for god's sake, you can't just send some green hunter after it because you have a vendetta, ya idgit!"

"Don't you dare try to pull that shit, Singer. Yes, I want to see the sonofabitch that killed my wife dead. And I don't want to see my boy die too. But don't you ever accuse me of not caring about the victims." John's voice was soft, yet vicious. It was the voice a young Dean had immediately recognized to mean business. A yelling John Winchester meant a flared temper, an eruption which would soon settle and all would be relatively fine in a few minutes. But a quiet John was different. It was one whose rage could not easily be quieted with a bottle of beer and a Royals game, or a quick ride in the Impala. And it was sincere; Bobby felt a twinge of guilt as he saw a look of sadness in his eyes, a look which vanished almost as soon as it had appeared. Sighing, Bobby leaned back in his chair, massaging his temple in hopes of relieving the massive stress headache that was rapidly coming on. "Ok, I'll see what I can do," he finally replied, just as the phone on his desk began to ring.

"Yeah?"

"Bobby?"

The older man immediately recognized the stress in the voice at the other end of the line, the voice of Dean Winchester, obviously cracking, as if he were trying to hold back tears. "Dean? What's wrong, son?" At this, John leaned forward, heart pounding in his chest. Was it Sam? Had something happened? Was he hurt? Bobby noticed the change of demeanor and raised a finger in silence, signalling the man to hold on a moment. "Ok, calm down, son. Tell me what happened."

"_It's the demon. I think it's the thing that killed Mom. It went after us, somehow tracked us down."_

"Balls. Are you ok, Dean? Sam?"

"_Yeah, we're fine, Bobby, but…"_ Dean's voice choked slightly, and he immediately cleared his throat, determined not to break down over the phone. _"Bobby, it killed her. The sonofabitch killed Jess."_

Jess. For a moment, Bobby felt an enormous relief over the fact that both of his boys had managed to survive a run in with Yellow Eyes. But then, he remembered who Jess was. Sam's girlfriend or something like that. As if sensing that the man couldn't remember, Dean continued. _"Sam was gonna marry her, Bobby. They were freaking _engaged." At that, Bobby's face grew sorrowful, and John suddenly didn't care anymore about a low profile. "Damnit, Bobby, are they ok? Are my boys safe?!"

"_Bobby, is that Dad?"_

Bobby finally remembered John, saw the pallor in his face, and nodded. "Cat's out of the bag, John. You wanna talk to yer boy?" John nodded, and the other hunter handed the phone over.

"Dean?"

"_Dad? Where have you been? Are you ok?"_

"You tell me first. Are you hurt? Is Sam?"

"_We're fine, Dad."_ At this, John immediately sighed in relief, an immense weight off his shoulders. "Thank God," he muttered. And immediately remembered the look of sadness on Bobby's face before handing over the receiver. "But something's wrong, isn't it?"

On the other end, Dean sighed, fighting back the lump forming from beneath his throat. _"Dad, Sammy… the demon killed his fiancée."_ John didn't even flinch at the mention of his youngest actually being engaged. "Jesus, Dean. What happened?"

"_The demon found us. Have no fucking clue how. Didn't even seem to try to go after us. Usual low pay grade stuff, flinging against walls, that kinda thing. But it seemed to, well, target Jessica. Tried to do what it did…" _Dean couldn't finish, and John shuddered. He knew all too well what the demon had been trying to do. Had probably been interrupted. "Dean, I…"

"_Yeah, I know."_

"Is Sammy with you?"

On the other end, Dean looked shocked. _"Yeah, Dad, he's right here."_

"Put him on."

There was a shuffling and a faint "Is that Dad", and moment later, his youngest was on the line. John immediately recognized the exhaustion and grief in his voice, and his heart ached for the boy. There was a pain in it he would never forget for the rest of his (well, shortened) life.

"Sammy?"

"_Yeah," _Sam said softly, and John suddenly realized just how young his boy sounded at that moment.

"Dean told me about your fiancée. I'm so sorry."

"_Yeah, thanks."_ There was a moment of awkward silence, and John was about to ask him to hand the phone back to Dean, when Sam suddenly spoke up. _"Dad? How do you…you know…"_

"I do, son. And you don't. Not really. You just have to keep fighting. Do whatever it takes. Make sure it doesn't happen to someone else's family."

"_Dad, I…" _Sam hesitated. He wanted to tell his father that he understood now, that he forgave him for the shitty childhood and being forced into the life. Because he finally knew what John Winchester was going through. But somehow no words would come; and if John had suspected anything, the hunter quickly misdirected him. "Just hang in there, kid, ok? You're tough. And you've got your brother. He'll mother hen you like crazy."

"_Yeah, I know."_ With the hint of a smile in his voice. Both knew that there would be no fear of Dean not doing whatever it took to help his brother.

After a few moments of rather awkward conversation, Dean was once again on the line with his dad. It was the part of the conversation he knew damn well either of his boys were going to like; where he was going to tell his boys to not try to look for him. Because there was no damn way not that his sons were going to just let the sonofabitch go free after what he had done to Jess. And he especially knew that, despite their rare moment of almost bonding he had shared with Sam minutes earlier, all that would be thrown out the window the moment he told his youngest to not bother looking for him. At least Dean would understand.

"Hey, Dean, I know I left suddenly at the hospital…"

And, as expected, Dean understood. _"It's ok, Dad. I get it. And we won't try to look for you." _John could practically see the look of surprise and frustration on Sam's face at that comment. _"But I think we'd work better as a team."_

"We can't, Dean."

"_Why not?" _John could hear Sam's heated reply from the other end and he sighed in slight frustration. "Because it's not safe. I need you to tell Sam that, Dean." As expected, his oldest replied with the standard "yessir" and John smiled. "Good," he said. "I'll keep in touch. I promise."

And John Winchester hung up before his son could even respond.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

"It's ok, Dad. I get it. And we won't try to look for you…"

Dean stole a glance at his brother, not surprised at how Sam's face had gone from grief stricken to pissed, from zero to sixty. The shit was about to hit the fan. Immediately sensing the blow up which would soon follow, Dean mouthed "keep quiet, Sam", an action which immediately resulted in a patented Sam Winchester bitch face. Choosing to ignore his brother, the elder Winchester continued:

"…But I think we'd work better as a team."

Dean paused, waiting for his father's reaction, and not at all surprised at the man's response. _"We can't, Dean."_ A statement which, of course, Sam somehow managed to figure out. _How the fuck did he even hear that? ESP or some shit?_ Because, in typical Sam Winchester fashion, the kid lost his cool. "Why not?'

"Jesus, Sammy, can we not do this now?" Dean massaged the back of his neck, hoping to relieve the nervous tension building up in his muscles. And, praise God, Sam stopped talking, though not without staring at his brother in anger, as if channeling his frustration to the man at the other end of the line. He watched as Dean signed off with his usual "yessir" before disconnecting the call, sighing, and shoving the phone in his pocket; waiting for the inevitable. Because even without his being present, his kid brother always seemed eager to pick a fight with his old man.

"I don't get it, Dean. How you just let him walk all over you like that."

"I'm sure he has his reasons."

"Like he had when you were dying? When he ditched out on you at the hospital? Yeah, I'm _sure_ he had his reasons…"

And suddenly, red hot anger welled in Dean, and he found himself grabbing his little brother by the collar of his shirt. "Don't you dare talk about Dad like that," he hissed. "I get it. You didn't want to be a hunter. You wanted to go back to school. And I get that, man. But don't you ever think that man doesn't care."

"Well, he sure has a shitty way of showing it. Even _you_ have to admit to that."

Dean sighed, his grip on his brother relaxing. It was true; though Dean knew how much John Winchester cared for his sons, he also was well aware that his methods of showing that affection were unorthodox to say the least. And there _had_ to have been a reason why he had left him at death's door last summer…

"Look man,that was out of line, I'm sorry…"

Dean blinked, his brother's apology snapping him back to reality. He nodded, a gruff "yeah" escaping from his lips, and he turned and headed back to the Impala, fishing out his keys. Without a word, Sam followed his brother, sliding into the passenger seat; the argument over but nowhere near forgotten.

XXX

The motel was dark, save for the glow from the screen of Sam's laptop. On the bed nearby, Dean was, mercifully, snoring away, the few glasses of the hard stuff helping in putting the older Winchester to sleep. Sam sighed, watching as his brother shifted position before once again settling comfortably beneath the blankets. The empty bed beside Dean looked inviting, despite the terrible conditions of the _Rest More Motel_ (the young hunter had snorted at the irony upon seeing the interior). But there was no time for sleep, and so Sam had sat up with his research, consuming can after can of Red Bull (much to his disgust), until finally, an hour before dawn and with the inevitable crash from the energy drink looming, he closed his eyes…

"Hey, Sam."

The young hunter blinked, certain that he was hallucinating and telling himself to lay off on the Red Bull. Because, standing before him, was Jessica, dressed in the white negligee she had bought especially for him. She smiled at him, slowly making her way toward him.

"I'm dreaming."

"What difference does it make? I'm here, aren't I?" The young woman smiled again, gently brushing a stray lock of damp hair from Sam's forehead. "You really shouldn't drink that stuff. It's terrible for the heart," gesturing to the empty cans beside his laptop. Sam smiled at that. "Yeah, was just thinking that."

"It's not your fault, you know," Jess continued, and immediately Sam felt his heart sink. He knew exactly what she was talking about. And it _was_ his fault. If he'd only gotten there sooner, if only the cabin had been properly warded…

"Sam, enough with the pity party. You feel bad. I get it. I was the one who let her in. Who broke the salt line after you left."

"I was supposed to protect you."

Jess softened, seeing the brightness in Sam's eyes, the soft biting of his lower lip as he tried to control his tears. "Oh, baby," she murmured, and she kissed him, soft lips brushing against his. Sam felt his heart skip a beat as Jess, his Jessica, pulled him close, running her fingers through his mop of dark hair. _This can't be real. I'm dreaming. _And then, as if reading his thoughts, Jess pulled away gently and smiled. "Well, if you're dreaming, at least it's a good dream."

Sam nodded, allowing his beautiful Jess to lead him to his bed, to gently unsnap the buttons of his shirt; he sighed in pleasure as she nibbled at his ear, kissed his neck, massaged his chest. For several minutes they made love, indulging in the warmth of her body against his, the brush of her long, blonde hair upon his shoulders. And when it was over, he cried softly, Jessica brushing away the tears as she lay beside her.

"Your dad knows what's best, you know."

Sam sighed, the tender moment temporarily forgotten. "How do you know that, Jess? You were there when Dean was…" he closed his eyes, the memory of his brother on his deathbed still too fresh in his mind. "You saw how far gone he was."

"And also how he suddenly got better, no questions asked. Sort of suspicious, huh? And it was right about then when your father left."

"What are you saying?"

Jessica sighed. "For a man with a free ride to Stanford Law, sometimes you surprise me." Sam looked at her, saw the sprig of yarrow flower in her hand. "Is that…"

And suddenly, she was gone, the only trace of her being the golden flower lying beside him on the mattress.

XXX

Sam's eyes snapped open, bombarded by the brightness suddenly filling the room. A quick glance around him told Sam that he had fallen asleep at his laptop, and the stiffness in his neck was enough evidence to confirm. So that meant… Sam sighed, the tender moments with Jessica already slipping away like beads falling off a pearl necklace. He had always known it would be a dream, and immediately the beauty of the moment was already being overshadowed with yet another sense of loss. Was this what was in store for him?

Sam sighed, got up and stretched his stiff muscles. The room was empty and the Impala gone, Dean having no doubt gone off for a breakfast run. Rubbing his tired eyes, he rebooted his laptop, about to continue his research on the demon, when suddenly images of the yarrow on the bed flooded his brain. Without a word, he pulled up the search engine, frustrated at the mundane articles on gardening popping up on screen. _There has to be some significance._ And then, Sam remembered what Jess had said before vanishing, of how Dean had miraculously recovered just before John Winchester's disappearing act. Was it possible?

Ten minutes later, Dean returned to the motel, two steaming cups of coffee and a box of donuts in his hand. Looking up at him, Sam sighed. He knew that what he was about to say would hurt his brother worse than the disease which had been slowly draining the life from him last summer, but he had to tell him the truth.

"Dean? I think I know why Dad left."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Ten minutes later, Dean returned to the motel, two steaming cups of coffee and a box of donuts in his hand. Looking up at him, Sam sighed. He knew that what he was about to say would hurt his brother worse than the disease which had been slowly draining the life from him last summer, but he had to tell him the truth.

"Dean? I think I know why Dad left."

"Yeah?" The words sounded muffled, a jelly donut stuffed in Dean's mouth, and Sam smiled wryly. "Yeah. And you're probably not gonna like it."

"Since when have I ever liked that crap anyway?" Dean handed his brother one of the Styrofoam cups and leaned against his brother's chair, sipping his own drink. The webpage displayed on Sam's laptop was still on the one describing the significance of the yarrow. The brothers were quiet as Dean read, Sam gingerly rubbing his temples as he waited. "So, this plant is associated with witchcraft, huh? So Dad's working some hoodoo mojo here? For what, revenge?"

"Keep reading."

Dean obliged, and Sam cringed when his brother finally spoke up: "No. No way. Not even possible."

"Dean, man, I'm not saying it's definite, but you gotta admit that it makes sense."

"Then you just gotta research more." Because there was no way Dean was ever going to believe that his father had made a pact with a crossroads demon. He felt his stomach churn and for a moment, Dean was afraid that he was going to lose his breakfast.

"But everything adds up, Dean. You have to admit that much." Sam began stating his case, each fact leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, like bile. "The plant grows frequently at crossroads, namely the ones where demon pacts are made; Dad vanishes mysteriously when you're literally hours from dying; you miraculously recover as soon as he skips town; he doesn't even bother to try to contact us…."

"And how is that anything new?"

"Shut up, Dean and let me finish."

"No. Let me. You go on about how you think Dad landed himself a one way ticket downstairs, all this yarrow shit, and you have no fucking clue where you even came up with the idea. You just get this random idea to look up plants and crossroads demons because you need an excuse about Dad ditching us. You know, that's pretty low, Sam, even for you."

"If you'd just shut up for one minute I'd explain!"

"I'm all ears, Sammy."

Sam closed his eyes, drew a deep breath. He knew that this would probably sound ridiculous; hell, sometimes even _he_ didn't believe what had happened the night before with Jess. But Dean had every right to be upset, to want some solid proof regarding his theory. "I had this dream last night."

"Clowns or midgets?" A hint of the old Dean Winchester attitude, and Sam smiled despite himself. Inappropriate humour was always a sign his brother was trying to smooth the waters between the two of them; or as a coping mechanism. Or, in this case, likely both.

"Neither. It was Jess." Dean softened as he noticed the look of exhaustion and sorrow on his younger brother's face. Sam's hazel eyes were bright and he blinked back a few tears, hoping his sibling wouldn't notice. "She was here, we, well..." Dean smiled faintly, sparing his brother the embarrassment, and gratefully he continued. "Anyway, after that, she said something about Dad leaving and how you suddenly recovered from the cancer. And she left this." He reached behind his laptop and handed Dean the sprig of yarrow; the latter's eyes narrowed as he examined the plant, occasionally glancing at the computer screen for comparison. After a moment, he reluctantly nodded. "Ok, this is definitely yarrow, but how the fuck did it get in here? You said Jessica came to you in a dream."

"But maybe it wasn't a dream after all."

"Sam, what are you saying?"

This was it. The moment of truth. He hadn't mentioned it last summer, having chalked it up to his fear that his brother was going to die. Hell, the odds had been in the Grim Reaper's favour practically from the moment Dean had appeared at his doorstep that night in June. So it was perfectly normal to dream of your brother suddenly recovering from near death. And to dream of their dad ditching them? Hell, it was pretty well the only thing John Winchester knew how to do.

But it was not normal to dream about your fiancée dying only days before, of that Sam was certain. And with scarily accurate details. Everything, from the location of the cabin to the type of wounds, to the clothes she was wearing. All in perfect detail, days before Jessica's death. Her blood was on his hands. Sam felt himself shaking and immediately Dean was at his side, one again in protective brother mode. "It's ok, Sammy. You know you can tell me, right? I'm your awesome big brother."

"You'll probably think I'm a freak."

"Dude, when do I ever _not_ think you're a freak?"

Sam chuckled faintly. "And that's supposed to be comforting _how?_" But the banter was actually helping to calm his nerves. "Remember, Dean. This is serious. And I'm not making this shit up."

"Then just tell me already, Sam. What's going on?"

Sam sighed. Moment of truth.

"When you were dying, I had this dream. Or what I thought was a dream. That you would be pretty much dead, Dad would leave, and voila, you're cured practically the moment he splits."

"Creepy coincidence."

"Yeah, I thought so too. Until I dreamed of Jess dying. Two days before."

Dean nearly choked on his coffee at that comment. "You did _what_ now?"

"You heard me." Sam leaned back in his chair, hoping to ease the nervous tension in his shoulders. "And this wasn't just a dream of her dying. Hell, after what happened with you, it kinda makes sense to. But…." Seeing Dean's _so what's the problem_ facial expression, "it's not normal to dream of her dying _exactly how it happened._ I mean, everything. The time, how she died, even the goddamned outfit she was wearing…"

For the first time in years, Dean Winchester was rendered speechless. He'd hunted every messed up creature known to man, stuff you'd probably have to be on drugs to even consider believing. But premonitions? Especially when they involved pain in the ass little brothers. Not _that_ had to be bullshit. Right?

"What are you saying, Sam?"

"I'm saying that if I can have premonitions or whatever, is it that far a stretch that Jess could communicate to me through dreams? Like a spirit?"

Dean's mind was running a mile a minute, trying to process what his kid brother had just told him. Sam was a freaking psychic. Had actually witnessed his fiancée die: _twice._ And no doubt felt guilty as shit for doing nothing to stop it. How was Sam not a complete basket case right now? But one thing he knew for sure: the last thing his brother needed at the moment was to see his older sibling lose his shit right in front of him. So Dean drew a deep breath, steadied his fraying nerves, not once revealing the anxiety that in truth was threatening to overwhelm him at any moment.

"Yeah, could be," he answered instead. Dean raised his coffee to his lips, looked at the drink as if in disgust, and tossed it into the trashcan. "So we're gonna have to look at this like any other hunt. We don't have proof that Dad sold his soul, but we have a lead. And we have, what, like ten years to figure it out? That's more than enough time to get him out of it, right?"

"Yeah. Sure." But despite his brother's faux optimism, Sam's instincts were telling him otherwise. It was true that the typical payment for crossroads deals was ten years of the good life before the hellhounds came to collect. But even though he knew that his father was not one for calling just to chat, Sam had a gut feeling that his father didn't have ten years.

XXX

John stood in the darkness outside the boys' motel, a wooden box between his arms. He knew he was taking a huge risk just by being here; and the weapon in that box, the one weapon that could kill the demon, was adding even more to the stakes. But no other hunter had volunteered to take on the insane task of killing the Yellow Eyed Demon, and John knew for sure that if he were to try himself, the odds would not be in his favour. John rubbed his thumb against the rough wood of the box, where the fabled Colt rested like a crown jewel. He had been searching for this gun for years, even before he was one hundred percent convinced of its existence. Now, all he had to do was pass it down to his sons and pray to god that this little loophole in the deal would go unnoticed.

"It's up to you, boys," John muttered.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The sound of rustling outside the door startled Sam, and he sat upright in bed. The hunter hadn't been sleeping well anyway, the few times he had managed to nod off plagued by nightmares of Jess dying, pleading for him to save her. His senses, always on the alert, were even more so now, to the point where Dean had actually considered knocking him out just so he'd get a few hours' rest; and the hunter was far from surprised when his younger brother refused, wanting to be lucid in case someone or _something _decided to pay the Winchesters a visit.

Like right now.

Quietly, so as not to disturb whomever or whatever was outside, Sam slipped a hand beneath his pillow, pulling out his Taurus. He listened a moment, and upon deciding that he was (for the moment) safe enough to do so, slipped out of bed and reached for the door. Heart pounding, Sam carefully turned the knob. And then drew a breath of surprise.

For standing on the threshold, a look of frustration and fear on his face, was John Winchester.

"Dad?"

"Shit," John mumbled, cursing himself for being so careless. He almost always was when it came to his boys; they were his weakness. "I shouldn't have come," he grumbled, and turned as if to leave. Sam, beginning to calm from his shock, spoke up, feeling the anger swelling. There was no way his dad was leaving, not now. "What the hell, Dad? I could have _shot_ you!"

"Hello to you too, son."

"Dad, what are you doing here?" By this time, Sam was beginning to calm down, and sensing this, John turned around, finally getting a good look at his son. To an untrained eye, Sam Winchester looked the same: shaggy mop of hair, lanky features, freakishly tall. But John recognized something in his boy's hazel eyes: the look of sadness, loss, and anger he had felt all those years earlier, after Mary had died. His Sammy had gone through the same horror he had witnessed almost twenty-three years earlier, a tragedy he had tried so hard to prevent.

But now there was another one to think of: the inevitable relapse of Dean's cancer should Yellow Eyes find out he had breached his part of the deal: and the demon most certainly _would_ find out. Trying to steady his fraying nerves, John handed Sam the package. "I can't stay, Sam. I'm not even supposed to be here. If the demon finds out I'm here…"

"I know. Or at least, I can guess." At this, John visibly paled, and Sam realized just how vulnerable his father looked in the shadows. "I know you made a deal, Dad. Why else would Dean just recover from his cancer like that? Doctors wanted to use his case in medical journals." John smiled slightly at that. But it disappeared the moment he saw the grief in his son's face, one that had witnessed more grief than a person should see in a lifetime let alone before their twenty-fifth birthday. He sighed; there was no turning back.

"Well?" John realized that despite his decision to admit his deal, he still hadn't spoken. Clearing his throat, he finally shared the story of his deal; of how he'd been broken to see his son dying; of his contract being only one year instead of the customary ten; of how he was seriously breaching the contract just by talking to him. At this last one, Sam grew angry, eyes that were once filled with sorrow now bright with ire. "What happens if you break that contract, Dad? You just drop dead? Jesus."

"Yes…" Suspecting the uncertainty in his father's voice, Sam spoke again, voice dangerously calm, like John's own when he was incredibly angry. _Like father, like son,_ John thought bitterly. "What else aren't you telling me? Is it… is it about Dean?"

"If I break the deal, it comes back."

"What, the cancer?" John nodded. "And at full stage four. It'll be like it was before I made the deal."

For a moment, Sam felt he couldn't breathe. Clutching the side of the door, the hunter leaned forward, as if he were about to vomit what little contents were in his stomach. No. Not again. His brother couldn't be dying again. And if that were true, then why the fuck was John willing to risk his son's life? How could he?

"I was hoping you wouldn't wake up," John continued, almost rambling. "Figured if I just dropped something off and left, I could get away with it." At this, John picked up the package his son had not noticed in the shock of seeing his father. "In this box is the only thing that will kill the demon. It's a special gun, made by Samuel Colt."

"_The_ Samuel Colt?"

John nodded. "He made this weapon specifically to kill the stuff we hunt. Werewolves, vamps, whatever sonofabitch goes after us, this gun can take 'em down."

"Including demons," Sam nodded in understanding. The pieces were finally starting to fall together; John was passing the Colt to his boys in order to kill the Yellow Eyed demon. "But why are you giving it to us? Especially since it's a huge risk to even be here."

"That's another part of the bargain. I can't be the one to take the demon down, or the same thing happens. I drop dead, Dean gets his cancer back. I figured the risk of giving you the Colt was not as high as that of me killing the demon myself." John gestured the box forward, waiting for his son to take it; gingerly, as if it were a bomb, Sam accepted the package. "Now, as you might expect, you can't just walk into any shop and ask for the ammo for this gun. Samuel Colt only made thirteen bullets, and only five are left. So you better be damn sure where you're shooting." Sam nodded. "Good. I can't stay here, the demon's probably on my ass. With any luck, it has no clue about the Colt, or that I'm giving it to you." John patted his son on the shoulder and smiled faintly, eyes misting. If he were lucky, Dean might be spared the fate of his cancer returning; but he had a sick feeling in his gut that his one way ticket to hell might be punched ahead of schedule. "Take care, son. Watch out for your brother." Sam nodded, a lump forming in his throat. He had not missed his father's words, of how it was usually _Dean_ caring for him and not the other way around. "Yeah," he said softly, "you too." John gave his son a satisfied nod, and headed back to his truck, trying to shake off the feeling that he had just seen his son for the last time.

XXX

"You were right. Winchester did try to see them."

The Yellow Eyed demon had expected as much, despite the terms the older one had been given. The demon gestured to his minion, a nurse still dressed in baby blue scrubs, as if bored to see him. "You act like you're surprised," Yellow Eyes remarked. "Do you have any idea why he was there? The man's far from stupid; he wouldn't risk getting caught breaching his contract without a damn good reason."

"No sir."

"Can you at least tell me where they are? Act useful for once."

"They're at the _Rest More Inn _off the Interstate," sputtered Blue Scrubs, and Yellow Eyes nodded, snapping his fingers. In seconds, the other demon had collapsed at his feet, neck snapped like a brittle twig. The lower ones on the pay grade were a dime a dozen anyway. "So Johnny thought he could sneak past me, huh?" The demon smiled malevolently, eyes flashing gold. Not that he was truly upset; the thought of Daddy Winchester burning in Hell and Dean's insides riddled with cancer was more than appealing. Plus, it would be much easier to build his army of Special Children without John Winchester in the way. He could do it all with the snap of a finger.

But it bothered him knowing that the hunter had tried to bend the rules in his contract. It was common knowledge that despite his hard ass methods of parenting, Winchester loved his sons, would do anything for them. It made no sense that he would risk his boy's life just for a random visit. He was up to something, and it was unsettling to not know exactly what. What he _did_ know was that John Winchester had breached his contract; rules were rules. Smiling wickedly, Yellow Eyes snapped his fingers.

XXX

In the darkness outside his cheap motel, a Hellhound growled in the distance.

XXX

Sam had finally drifted into uneasy sleep when his cell rang on the nightstand beside him. Groggily he sat up, groping in the darkness for the vibrating device, and snapped it open. "Yeah?"

"Sammy?" It was John Winchester's voice, and he sounded terrified for the first time since his mother had died. "Dad? Is that you?"

"Your brother! Check your brother!"

"Dad, I don't understand…." Sam paused, finally hearing the high pitched howls in the background. "Oh my god, Dad, is that?"

"CHECK YOUR BROTHER! That's an order!" Nodding numbly, Sam leaped from his bed to where Dean should have been sleeping. Instead the hunter was sitting up in bed, coughing violently. The younger Winchester snapped on the lamp and was horrified to see that his brother was coughing up blood. For a moment, he had forgotten his father on the other end of the line, until his heard his stern voice yelling into the receiver. "Damn it, Sam, _is Dean alright?!_" With shaking hands, Sam picked up the phone, struggling to keep his voice calm. "No, Dad. He's…"

On the other end of the line, a door burst open, the whining and growling of the Hellhounds louder; they were in the room. His heart nearly stopped as he heard the soft thud of the phone dropping to the ground. "Dad?" Calling for his father, praying for some miracle that he knew wouldn't come. "DAD!"

XXX

John backed into the corner of his motel room, shotgun pointed directly at the Hellhound before him. He knew that the weapon would be useless, that there was no turning back, but the irrational fear overwhelming him was prohibiting any logic he had ever had. He had accepted his death. Though far from looking forward to being mauled by one of Hell's mutts, or spending eternity in Hell, the thought of Dean dying was unbearable. Swallowing the fear in his gut, John cocked the weapon, hoping to at least slow the vicious creature down, and not in the least surprised to find the canine brush off the shot as one would swat an annoying fly. In fact, it resulted only in making the Hellhound even more violent. John, bracing himself, finally tossed the gun aside.

"Fuck you," he spat, as the Hellhound dove in for the kill.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hi, everyone! I just wanted to say thanks again to those sticking with this, and putting up with the crazy, sporadic updates. To make up for all that, I'm aiming to post two in one week! Anyway, enjoy! And as always, I don't own the boys, just borrowing them.**

**Chapter Ten**

"Sammy? What the fuck's going on?"

Sam froze, the cell phone still open in his hands, the sounds of his father's screams echoing in the room; those cries would haunt him for the rest of his life. Meanwhile, Dean was looking up at him, still coughing blood, a look of fear and confusion in his eyes. "Sam! Tell me!"

"Dad's deal," he whispered, finally snapping the phone shut. Mercifully the sounds of his father's cries stilled. "The demon figured it out. We gotta find him!" Sam's brain was racing a mile a minute as he grabbed his clothes and stuffed them hurriedly in his bundle. And froze when he heard yet another agonizing hack from his brother. His father was being torn up by Hellhounds at this very moment, and his brother had just relapsed into stage four cancer. He couldn't leave his father to die, and brutally at that. But logically there was no way he would arrive to his dad's motel in time; hell, he didn't even know _where_ he was staying. And Dean needed a hospital _now._ Sighing in frustration, Sam ran his fingers through his hair, trying to calm his fraying nerves. And all the while Dean sat on the bed, trying to remain calm for his brother's sake but secretly freaking the hell out. Because what healthy young man suddenly began coughing up blood with no leading symptoms whatsoever?

"What about it, Sammy? I don't get it. Didn't he have a year?"

"The dumbass breached his contract. And now we gotta go. Hurry up, Dean. Pack your stuff. We need to get you to a hospital."

"Sammy, I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Sam sighed, not wanting to tell his brother of his cancer. Because to do so would be to admit he was dying. Again. But there was no way he could hide it, either. Dean would find out sooner or later.

"It's back," was all he said.

"What's back?" But Dean knew, and immediately he remembered: the nausea, weakness, the pain in his side. He closed his eyes, could actually feel the symptoms rushing back, like a tidal wave. "It's the cancer, huh?" And sick or not, Dean hurled his water glass across the room in frustration. The glass shattered into several pieces, the liquid running down the wall and staining the dingy carpet.

"Which means we have to get you to a hospital now, while you still…" _While you can walk. Before you slip into another coma._ Blinking back tears, Sam helped his brother pack, not forgetting the Colt, still in its box. It was a long shot, but maybe, if he killed the demon, he could reverse Dean's cancer. It had been done before. Hell, he could probably make a deal himself. Sam closed his eyes, images of his father alone, torn about by Hell's vicious canines, flashing before him. For a moment, he thought he was going to lose his supper that night. Fortunately, the nausea passed, and in a few minutes he had loaded their gear in the Impala, Dean already slouched in the passenger seat. He looked just as he had in Dr. Ryder's office last August the day she had told the brothers that the chemo wasn't working. _Not this again,_ Sam thought as he through the car in gear and sped off in search of the nearest hospital. _Please, God, not this again._ Because this time he didn't have Jessica to support him; the financial assistance of his friends and neighbours. He was on his own.

XXX

Sam was far from surprised when the doctors confirmed Dean's diagnosis: stage four liver cancer, liver failure, in need of a transplant. The estimated wait time was astronomical; Dean's name having been removed from the list following his miraculous recovery last summer. Doctors were astounded at how someone could be on death's door, recover without a trace of cancer cells, only to have the disease suddenly return at full force. Of course, it was common for cancer to return at full force, but for one to go from riddled with it to cured within minutes, only to have it again… it was baffling, to say the least.

But Sam didn't care about the astounded doctors. His thoughts were only for the man lying in the bed beside him, once more drifting in and out of consciousness. He had already come so close to losing him then, and the thought of having to endure the whole, painful process again was too much. And this time, there was no Dad to make another deal...

Sam closed his eyes, the sounds of the Hellhounds, and his usually strong father's terrified screams, haunting him. He could almost smell the putrid stench of death, taste the coppery blood on his tongue. The young hunter knew that he would carry the mental image of John Winchester's death for the rest of his life...but because of his father's sacrifice, Dean had been given a clean bill of health; it was only John's risky (and foolish) attempts at finding loopholes which had caused the cancer to return with a vengeance. A risk Sam himself would never take, demon or no demon.

Could he really make a deal of his own? The thought made him physically ill. Sam actually reached for the bedpan at Dean's bedside, prepared to vomit what little remained in his stomach. But nothing could be worse than watching his brother deteriorate before his eyes - to see him suffer a slow and painful death. He would have a year, raising hell and killing as many sonsofbitches as possible before sneaking away and dying alone. It wasn't ideal; hell, it was something Dean would do himself. And he'd be devastated. But anything was better than _this._

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam muttured as he sat up from his brother's bedside. "But I have to do this. I hope you understand." There was no answer but the steady _beeps_ and _whooshes_ of the machines keeping his brother alive. With a heavy heart, Sam left the room, praying he wasn't about to make the biggest mistake of his life.

XXX

"Well, well, what a surprise."

Standing before Sam beneath an overcast night sky, the demon sauntered her way towards him, heels crunching in the gravel with each step. "Let me guess, Daddy didn't live up to his end of the bargain and baby brother is trying to clean up the mess. How disgustingly cute."

"Don't be coy. So you know why I'm here."

"Looks like your precious big brother is back in the frying pan, huh? And poor Sammy has to watch him die all over again. It's just all too pathetic." Running her hands through his thick hair, seductively, as Jessica would do. Once again, Sam fought off the urge to throw up; the demon's resemblance to his late fiancee was almost uncanny, with her long, blonde curls and aqua eyes. She was even wearing a hint of the scent Jess wore, and for a moment, Sam considered dropping it, or finding another crossroads in hope of summoning a different demon. Sensing the hunter's discomfort, she grinned wickedly, and her eyes flashed black. "Better? Maybe I remind you of someone?"

"Shut up," Sam hissed, pushing the demon aside. Until he actually kissed her, he wanted no physical contact. "So, do we have a deal?"

The demon smiled, leaned closer to Sam, crimson lips almost brushing agains his. And then, a whisper. "No deal."

"What?"

"You heard me. I said, no deal." The demon pulled back from the almost kiss, running her fingers against his chest. "Not that I don't regret kissing you. You are a handsome young man. But right now, things are lining up perfectly. So run along, go see your brother. I have a feeling he's not going to be around much longer."

For a moment, Sam stared at the demon, dumfounded. He had been certain that he would be able to make a deal. Who wouldn't want another Winchester in the hot seat? But as a hunter, he had still been prepared for the worst. It was the name of the game, to always expect the unexpected. And so, without hesitation, he drew the Colt from beneath his jacket, aiming it between the demon's eyes.

"Alright then, how about a little persuasion?"

At the sight of the gun, the demon froze, terrified. "Where did you get that?" she asked, attempting to steady her shaking voice.

"That's not really the question you should be asking, now, is it? Now, are you willing to make a deal?"

"I can't." There was no mistaking the fear in the demon's voice; she was telling the truth. Sam could feel his heart sink, but he remained steady, the Colt still aimed steadily at her. "But I can tell you where Azazel is."

"Azazel...?"

"The one you call The Yellow Eyed Demon. Very creative." Sensing a way out of iminant death, the demon was beginning to relax. "And it won't even cost you anything."

"How do I know you aren't lying?"

The demon laughed. "You don't. But I do know that if you can't save your precious brother or Daddy dearest, the next best thing is revenge. And since I'm feeling so generous, I'm going to throw in a freebie. You kill Azazel, your brother lives. But if he dies before you get your Yellow Eyes there's nothing bringning him back."

Sam stood there, dumbfounded. This demon was actually _helping _him? There had to be a catch somewhere. But it was a risk he had to take, no matter how much it seemed to be too good to be true. Slowly, Sam lowered the weapon, eyes narrowed. "All right then, where is he?"

"Where it all started," she answered coyly, and arched her head back. Immediately a cloud of black smoke spiraled before her, before the young woman collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Sam cursed to himself; of course it would be a damn riddle. Slipping the gun back in his coat pocket, he leaned over and helped the girl, who was starting to regain consciousness, to her feet and led her back to the Impala. But as he drove, the young woman sitting in slience in the passenger seat, Sam Winchester felt his heart sink for the second time that day.

He had to go back.

He had to go to Lawrence.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Bobby was sleeping at his desk, amidst a massive collection of lore books and other ancient tomes, when his phone began to shrill. The harsh tone startled the grizzled hunter awake, and he cursed himself for having fallen asleep during his research before reaching for the ringing device. "Yeah?" he growled, massaging his stiff neck.

"Bobby?" The voice on the other end was tired, and sounded small, almost childlike. Bobby sighed, immediately recognizing the fear and grief in young Sam Winchester's voice, and felt his heart sing. Something had to be very wrong for the usually calm, steady young man to show his vulnerability. Something involving his father or more than likely, his brother. _Balls,_ he thought to himself._ Goddamn John Winchester…_

"Sam? What's wrong, boy?" Knowing damn well what the problem was, and dreading the answer.

"It's… it's Dad. He dropped off this gun, Bobby, said it was a special Colt…."

"Balls!"

"….and he wasn't supposed to make any contact with us." Sam drew a deep breath, knowing that he probably sounded far from coherent at the moment. "Bobby, Dad breached his contract when he gave us that gun. He's… he's…"

"Jesus, Sam…" Bobby felt his heart ache for the young man. He was far from John Winchester's favourite person, but the man had moved Hell and back for those boys. The thought of him being mauled by Hellhounds sickened him. "I'm sorry, Sam, about yer Daddy."

But Sam ignored Bobby's offers of condolences, and instead felt a sob forming from beneath his throat. Quickly he swallowed it back, wiping yet another onslaught of tears from eyes already red and burning from crying. "It's not just Dad, Bobby. Dean…"

_Dean._ Immediately the hunter cursed himself as he recalled the last conversation he had had with John Winchester. Of how one of the penalties of any breach of contract was the return of Dean's cancer. "Sam," he repeated sadly, and felt the moisture forming from beneath his closed lids. "Is he…?"

"No, not yet. But I need your help, Bobby". A hint of determination had returned to the young hunter's voice, bringing much needed comfort and relief to the older man. And Dean was still alive, at least for the moment. And with that was even the slightest hope that maybe there would not be a second Winchester corpse to burn. "I can take care of it, son. Where was yer Daddy when he….? Well, you know."

Sam paused in surprise. In his fear for his brother's life, he had forgotten about his father, the arrangements that needed to be made. The typical hunter's funeral. As if on autopilot, he gave Bobby the necessary information, and fresh grief overwhelmed him. The fact that he had nearly forgotten about his father's mangled body, of how he was being tormented at this very moment in Hell, sickened him. But Dean was still alive, and if nothing was done soon, there would be another corpse on the funeral pyre._ No. Not if I can help it._

"Thanks, Bobby, I appreciate it. But I need your help with something else, too."

"Well, doesn't _that_ sound completely non suspicious."

"There weren't any deals. I swear. But I do know where the demon Dad was hunting is going to be. It's somewhere in Lawrence, but I don't know exactly where. Was hoping you could narrow things down a bit."

"No deals, huh? There better not be. Because if I find out you pulled a stunt like that for yer brother so help me God…"

Sam sighed, fighting to hold back the exasperation in his voice. "There were no deals, Bobby. I promise. But I need your help. The demon said…"

"_No deals!? But you're talking to a goddamn DEMON? Jesus, Sam, ye idgit!"_

"I didn't make a fucking deal with her!" Sam felt his voice rising, only slightly feeling guilty for raising his voice at the man who had been their father figure for years. He felt the Impala surge forward, and Sam eased on the gas. He had to cool down, for both his and Dean's sake. "Look, I understand. Demons can't be trusted. But I'm running out of options, Bobby. And this one gave me not only a location, but a possible way to save Dean."

Bobby sighed, the anger gone from his voice. "How would killing that thing save yer brother? And besides, how can you be sure it's telling the truth, Sam? Demons lie. It's what they do. They get off on manipulatin' people." There was silence on the other end of the line, and for a moment, Bobby thought that Sam had hung up on him in frustration, no matter how out of character it seemed. People tended to act irrationally out of fear and grief. But after a moment, the old man heard a soft sigh, and Bobby could tell the kid was trying to keep from crying. "I know, but I can't see him die, Bobby. Not again. Not like that. Please. You have to help me." Sam cleared his throat, and spoke again in a steadier voice. "Can you at least give me something? Look up some signs of demonic activity?"

Bobby closed his eyes, massaging his aching temple. He didn't want to see Dean suffer any more than his brother did. He loved both Winchesters as if they were his own, and had grieved almost as much as Sam and John when he had first heard of the kid's cancer diagnosis. Allowing him to die a slow, painful death, for the second time in months, would be cruel, to both brothers. But rather than show any emotion, he let out a gruff "I'll see what I can do" and Sam disconnected the call, feeling the first gleam of hope since Jess's death.

XXX

Bobby had called back with the information a few miles before Sam reached the Lawrence city limits. There plenty of signs throughout the area, but they seemed to be the strongest on the city's outskirts. Cattle dropping dead, freak electrical storms, the usual MO of demonic activity. Sam eased the Impala to a stop and dialed the hospital for an update on Dean's status. Still in critical condition, suffering from kidney failure; he could go at any moment. Trying to block out the image of his brother dying and focusing on the _still alive,_ Sam pocketed his phone and drew a deep breath. According to Bobby, Yellow Eyes was close.

"I'm coming for you, you sonofabitch," he hissed, opening the trunk and pulling out the Colt and other necessities for the summoning ritual Bobby had given him. Fortunately, Sam had most of the ingredients on hand, and had little trouble acquiring the rest. Satisfied, the hunter made his way into the building, praying that his crazy plan to save his brother would actually work. There was a possibility that he was not walking out of here alive; but so long as Dean was cured, he had no quarrels with that outcome. _Jesus, guess I really am more like Dad._

Within a few minutes, Sam was in the basement of the abandoned building, constructing an elaborate devil's trap. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he prepared the ritual, sliced the palm of his hand, and lit the match. At first, nothing happened and Sam began to question the accuracy of the information, despite the fact he knew damn well that Bobby Singer didn't fuck things up to that magnitude. He was just deciding that perhaps _he_ had been the one to mess up when he heard a sneering voice from behind him.

"My, my, where did you learn that trick? Daddy, I assume? Guessing the apple didn't fall too far from the tree, hmm?"

"Shut up."

"My, my, don't we have our panties tied up in a knot?" The demon walked toward Sam, and his eyes flashed gold. "I know you." He scrutinized the hunter for a moment, and a slick smile spread across his face. "You're one of my special children, aren't you? An excellent specimen, too. Looks like someone has been eating his Wheaties."

"Shut up."

The demon laughed, his voice pure venom. "For someone as supposedly educated as you are, you have a limited vocabulary. But you're smart." Scrutinizing Sam a second time, and nodding in satisfaction. "Oh yes, you are definitely my favourite. But I'm sure there's a reason for our little rendezvous, am I right? Let me guess. Following Daddy's footsteps, hmm?"

"Save him."

"Now whatever are you talking about, Samuel?"

Sam gritted his teeth, struggling to control the urge to just kill the sonofabitch now. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Bring back my brother. Now."

The demon grinned again, that smile that made Sam nearly want to vomit what little was left in his stomach. "Oh, that's right. Your beloved older brother. On death's door as we speak, is that right? Liver cancer? Wow, what a bad way to go. Maybe he should've laid off a bit on the hard stuff. That stuff'll kill you."

At that, an overwhelming fury threatened to overcome Sam. Pulling out the Colt, he aimed the weapon at Yellow Eyes' temple. "_Save my brother you fucking sonofabitch of I swear to God I'll send you right back to hell._" The demon seemed unfazed, not once flinching at the sight of the Colt. But there was a moment's hesitation in his voice. "Where did you get that?"

"Oh, this thing?" Sam could feel himself calm at the demon's discomfort; so he _hadn't _ known of the Colt. "You wanna know what would make my father risk breaking his contract? Seeing me put a bullet between your eyes."

The demon was at last looking a little worried. He lunged toward Sam, furious, only to be frozen by an invisible barrier. "A demon as powerful as you know noticing a simple devil's trap? Must be losing your touch." Once more the demon's eyes flashed yellow, and he outstretched his hand; in seconds Sam was pinned to the wall, the Colt skittering uselessly across the floor. "Don't underestimate me, boy," he hissed. "You might be one of my special children, but you are still expendable."

Pinned against the wall, Sam saw the demon snap his fingers; in seconds he felt the air escaping his lungs. "I remember the night I first saw you. Just a small, innocent baby, but I knew that you were one of mine. Too bad about Mommy, though. But she just had to get in the way." The demon closed its eyes, reminiscing. "I can still remember that look in her eyes when I pinned her to that ceiling. When I slit her open…."

Sam tried to say something, _anything,_ in rebuke, but could only gasp for breath. He could feel his chest tightening, vision blurring, as he struggled to draw air into burning lungs. _Is this how I die? Pinned to a wall with the thing that killed my mother _laughing_ at me?_ And suddenly, he could see her, as beautiful as ever, smiling warmly. He saw Jess, his beautiful Jessica, standing beside her with tears in her eyes. And his father, his own eyes wet but with a smile on his face, nodding as if in approval. _You can do it, son. You can kill him._

_I can do this. _Closing his eyes, Sam concentrated on his brother, on Dean alive and healthy and gorging on junk food. And suddenly, the Colt shot through the air, into his hands; the demon's hold on him broke, and Sam found himself gulping precious oxygen into starving lungs. Surprised, the demon stared at him, looking frightened for the first time since his summoning. Before he could regain his composure, he found himself once again staring at the barrel of the one weapon that could kill him.

"This is for Dean," he hissed, and pulled the trigger.

XXX

In a hospital room on the other side of the country, Dean Winchester shot up in his bed, gasping.

XXX

Sam stood before the body of the Yellow Eyed demon and for the first time felt himself beginning to tremble. How the fuck had he done that? He'd just _thought _of the Colt in his hands and the gun had somehow made its way to _him._ Did it possibly have anything to do with the demon's reference to Special Children? Was he a freak? Massaging his aching temple with his still unsteady hand, Sam stared at the corpse, his eyes once more smarting with that goddamn endless stream of tears, whole body shaking gently with the relief of seeing the thing that had killed his mom, his fiancée, lying there, lifeless. Later, he would remember that the man lying there was no more than an empty shell, just a man who had unwillingly been involved by the sheer misfortune of being the poor bastard Azazel had chosen to possess. But no thoughts of innocent civilians ran through Sam Winchester's mind as he pulled out his cell phone with shaking hands and dialed the hospital where his brother was living his last days.

"You need to get here as soon as possible, Mr. Winchester. We have news about your brother."

For a moment, Sam felt the breath once more drawn from his lungs. It hadn't worked. Azazel was dead, but that didn't change the fact that Mom was gone, too, Jess…. and now Dean too? What of revenge if he could not share that moment with his brother? He felt himself begin to choke up, was ready to cry for what seemed like the hundredth time in less than a year when the kind voice on the other end of the line interrupted him.

"I just don't understand it. They say it's a damned miracle…"

"Wait, are you saying my brother's ok?"

"If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes I'd have never believed it, but yes, Mr. Winchester, your brother is awake and talking. No traces of cancer in his body whatsoever."

Sam barely remembered the conversation that followed. In moments he was once again behind the wheel of the Impala, breaking records as he sped to California, _again_ crying his eyes out, whispering over and over his gratitude to whatever higher power was listening: _Thank god. He's alive. He's going to be ok. Thank god thank god thank god._ By the time he had finally pulled into a space at the hospital, he was exhausted from his having driven practically non-stop for over twenty-four hours, stopping only to catch an hour or two's rest in the back seat. Heart pounding, he hurried to the Information Desk, followed impatiently as he was led to his brother's new room. He felt a pang of guilt at the thought that Dean had awakened alone, no doubt scared for not his own wellbeing, but Sam's.

And then, he stood before his brother, sitting up in bed and trying to flip through a copy of _Popular Mechanics. _At the sight of his brother, the magazine was tossed aside as Dean looked up, trying to look casual and failing miserably. Sam, on the other hand, was not as successful at controlling his emotions. He stood at the door to the hospital room, mercifully uninhabited, and bit his lower lip to keep from crying _again._ "Dean," he murmured, staring at his brother, his _healthy_ brother.

"Geez, Sammy, you're such a girl." But there was no malice in his voice, and when Sam was at his side, pulling him into a tight embrace, Dean felt himself relax in the hold, patting Sam gently on the shoulder, hoping the simple touch would steady the tremors in his giant little brother's body. After a while, the trembling eased, and Dean pulled out of the embrace, giving his sibling's hand a gentle squeeze before breaking contact entirely.

XXX

The conversation Sam had been dreading came up about half an hour later, the brothers once more alone in the room after yet another interruption by one of the many baffled medical professionals dropping in on the mysterious cancer patient. Sam had been flipping through the channels of Dean's hospital issued TV, trying to resist from grasping his brother's hand. The emotional moment over, Dean would now push away his brother's touch, never one to open up or engage in anything he occasionally referred to as a "chick flick moment". Beside him, Dean was once more trying to focus on the articles in his magazine, but found himself distracted by thoughts of his brother and miraculous recovery. A recovery which was _highly_ suspicious, especially considering his father's….

_Dad._ The magazine once more slipped through his fingers. For a moment, he sat there silent, eyes closed. His father was dead, of that he was certain. In those terrifying moments when the cancer had returned, Dean had overheard the conversation Sam had been having with his father before…, well, _before._ And he knew that his father had somehow breached his contract. He was not angry at his father for his actions: John Winchester would never willingly harm his sons; there must have been a good explanation, one he would try to pry from Sam when he was out of this goddamned hospital. But now, there were other pressing issues on his mind.

Like how he was once again miraculously cured of his cancer.

"Sam, what did you do?"

"What?" _Playing dumb. Pretending he has no clue when he damn well knows what I'm talking about._

"Sammy." Softer now, with a hint of emotion in his once steady voice. Sam finally looked down at his brother, sighed. "I did what I had to do."

"Please tell me you didn't make a deal. I swear to God, Sam, if you made a deal with one of those sonsofbitches."

"Dean! I didn't make a deal, I swear." _Was only seconds away from dealing, though,_ Sam thought bitterly. There were some things his brother didn't need to know about.

"Then what _were_ you doing, Sam? You weren't here when I woke up, didn't know what happened to you until the nurse said you were on your way."The unwritten Winchester rule, Sam thought with a sigh. Unless absolutely necessary, one did not allow the other to wake up in a hospital alone. It brought nothing but fear for the other's safety, and hidden resentment once the other sibling was accounted for. Sam knew this, and felt once again the pang of guilt that Dean had had to go through that; knew that if his plan had, god forbid, failed, his brother would have possibly died alone too. A thought which nearly made him sick to his stomach.

"Sammy?"

"I went after the demon."

It didn't get any easier, even after confessing the same to Bobby not two days earlier. Dean closed his eyes, and turned his head away from his brother, an action which hurt Sam more than any physical or vocal outburst. "Dad came by the motel that night, and he had this gun with him."

"The Colt?"

Sam looked at his brother, surprised. "Yeah. How'd you know about that?"

"Dad told me stories about it growing up. Figured it was just a myth."

"Well, it isn't," Sam chuckled bitterly. "Heard that killing the demon might cure you, so…" _No need for him to know the intel came from a demon, and not Dad._

"So you went out after the demon, alone. Jesus, Sammy."

"And what would you have done, huh? If it were me lying in that bed? I know you wouldn't just let me die."

"You could have been killed, Sam. You're…" _You're all I have left._ The thought made Dean physically ill. Suddenly there was nothing he wanted more than to get behind the wheel of his Baby, just drive, block out the emptiness and loss from his father's death. He wasn't sure how he could live with that, the guilt that he'd been the reason his father was now suffering in Hell. But to lose Sam, too...

"Dean, I already watched you almost die. And I couldn't do it anymore, ok? I just couldn't." Sam turned away, swallowing the lump in his throat. At least there were no more tears, his eyes finally having shed all he had left. And sitting in that bed, watching his brother still grieving the second near loss of his older brother in less than a year, Dean softened. "It's ok, Sam," he said gently, and he grasped his brother's hand, holding it gently for a moment. The kid needed the touch of his brother at the moment, emotions be damned. Sam looked down at his brother, grateful, before nodding gently and reaching fo the remote.

It was time to move on. For both Winchesters.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/: Well this is the end of this story. I won't lie to you, this has been one of the hardest fics I have ever written and am happy to see the end. But I am also grateful to those who stuck with it, even when they had every right not to. Thanks to NerdAngel, who binge read both this and **_**Receive Me Brother.**_** Your support this past month or so has been awesome! And a huge thank you to LilyBolt, who has always stuck with me, lol. You are a great friend! Anyway, I hope you enjoy! And as always, I don't own **_**Supernatural,**_** all that belongs to the awesome Eric Kripke. **

**Chapter 12**

The flames snapped and danced in the darkness, casting an eerie glow upon the faces of the two young men standing on the periphery. Sam closed his eyes, listening to the crackle of fire as it consumed John Winchester's body, its heat providing no warmth from the chill in his heart. He wanted to cry, to find solace in tears, but after days of crying for his brother, the young hunter's eyes were dry. But that did nothing to ease the pain as he stood there, watching as his father's corpse burned before his very eyes. Thoughts of his dad, of how they had never truly seen eye to eye, flashed before him, images of his haunted childhood and adolescence. Not even death could wipe clean the bitter memories of his staved childhood: the nights alone with Dean, living on boxed suppers and sleeping in far from reputable motels; the loneliness; the way he had been practically disowned for wanting a higher education. And yet, he had done his best. For Sam Winchester had finally begun to understand that his father loved him, at least in his own, rather twisted way. Dean had always insisted that his drill sergeant methods of parenting were for protection, and Sam actually did believe that. The man had even signed his death warrant just to bring his brother back from the edge of the grave. And it hurt like hell that he had never gotten the chance to tell him how much he appreciated the man.

Sam sighed, drawing an unsteady breath as he watched the pyre before him, occasionally stealing a glance at his brother. As expected, Dean was also dry eyed, but there was no escaping the grief (and was that resentment? Guilt?) in his jade irises. Sam opened his mouth, about to say something; and then wisely closed it again. This was not the time for the share and care, no matter how much he wanted, _needed,_ his comfort. As if reading his mind, Dean muttered a single "Don't, Sammy," and the younger Winchester nodded. And so the two stood there, waiting until the last of the embers of their father's body faded into nothing. Slowly Dean turned and headed back to the Impala, Sam following with a heavy heart. For several minutes they drove in uncomfortable silence, Dean staring ahead as Sam leaned against the passenger window, as if trying to sleep. He had actually fallen into a doze when the crunch of gravel and a quick jerk to the left startled him awake.

"Dean?" But his brother had already left the car, still idling on the shoulder, slamming the door shut. Something Dean Winchester never did. Troubled, Sam followed him, watching as he leaned against the trunk, kicking at a stray beer bottle in frustration. For a moment, it looked as if his stubborn older brother might actually say something. Not the sappy "we only have each other now, I love you" speech usually reserved for Lifetime movies, of course. But for one second, it really did seem that Dean might slip off the mask for at least a moment. There was a yearning in his mossy green eyes, a desire to just say fuck it and bear his burdens; but even that was gone in seconds, replaced with a dullness Sam had never once seen in his brother.

It terrified him.

"Dean?" Sam repeated and his older brother blinked, once again back to reality.

"Did you hear something in the engine?"

"What?..."

"The Impala," Dean repeated, gently tapping the hood of the glossy, black muscle car. "Sounded like something rattling in there. Maybe I should go under the hood, check her out."

"Dean, I'm sure the car's fine."

"Nah, think I'll drive her to Bobby's. Been a while since she had a good tune up anyways."

Sam sighed in defeat. Of course his brother would use the Impala as an excuse to hide from his emotions. Why had he expected anything different this time? He closed his eyes, giving one last attempt at getting his brother to open up; and was far from surprised when Dean's answer was to climb back into the driver's seat, glancing impatiently at his younger sibling. Wordlessly, Sam slid in beside him, staring absently out the passenger window in an effort to hide the silent streak of tears.

XXX

There was nothing truly wrong with the Impala; Dean knew it from the get go. He was always in tune with every different noise and rattle in the old car; could tell from the slight shaking in the front if the tires needed balanced or a spark plug needed to be replaced. The slightest veer to the left or right and he'd be checking to see if Baby needed an alignment. And he knew damn well that the most serious work he really needed on the car was a very slightly overdue oil change. But working on his car, his father's most prized possession bequeathed to him as a teen, was therapeutic. He could get his hands dirty, could let his mind relax for even a few minutes. To see something that was once broken now running smoothly had always given Dean a slight thrill, even during the happier times; it encouraged him that if he could fix a right off, having it run like new, he could also fix the problems within his family. Perhaps a bit naïve, and not at all realistic, but the false sense of comfort was enough to keep him going during the rough patches.

And to say that he was going through a rough patch would be a gross understatement. He had almost died of cancer, _twice,_ and had lost his father in less than a year. He'd witnessed his younger brother fall apart, grieving not only their dad, but his fiancée; not to mention having almost lost Dean, too. For a moment, he felt guilty; he wasn't the only one grieving, and just because Sam's way of coping was different from his own, it did not make the pain any less unbearable. Hell, the kid was going through the process twofold, having not had the time to fully say goodbye to Jess, let alone their father. But irrational in his own agony, Dean pushed the thoughts from his mind, hoping the physical labour would do something, _anything,_ to dull the ache and praying that somehow, Sam had found his own way of dealing.

Of course, this statement would prove to be complete bullshit; even Dean noticed the way the kid looked exhausted in the morning, as if he hadn't even slept the night before; probably hadn't. Nightmares, no doubt. He'd had god knows how many after Jessica's death. What would make this time any different? The hunter watched from the corner of his eye as Sam quietly grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured a generous amount of coffee into it, not even adding the usual cream and sugar. His eyes looked blank as he sat at the table, sipping the hot liquid but seemingly not event tasting it, while Dean drank his own, generously laced with whiskey despite the early hour. It almost looked normal, two brothers enjoying a morning cup of joe before breakfast, if not for the slight shake of Sam's hand as it clutched his mug. Seeing the tremor, the elder Winchester once again felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. He'd have to talk to Sam, no matter how much he dreaded it.

But, to Dean's surprise, it was his gigantor of a younger brother who spoke up first.

"Hey, Dean."

For a moment, there was silence, as Dean stared into his own (practically full) mug of now lukewarm coffee. As much as he had wanted to say something, and was glad that he had not been the one to initiate the conversation, he remained silent. Winchesters didn't talk about their feelings; they bottled them inside until the inevitable eruption, and then tried to forget about the whole affair as if nothing had happened. It was not until he heard the shuffle of a chair being pulled back that Dean finally spoke.

"Sammy, wait."

A pause, then a soft _plump_ as Sam dropped tiredly in the chair.

"You know it isn't easy for me to talk about this stuff." Still avoiding eye contact with his brother. "These last few months haven't been all that easy. Between the, well, you know, and then Dad…" A single tear threatened to leak and Dean quickly brushed it away. "It's overwhelming, Sammy. So I fix cars. I drink. Keeps my mind off of all this shit. But I keep forgetting that I'm not the only one grieving. He was your father, too, and sometimes I forget that. And Jess…" Dean sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm supposed to look out for you, and here I am, thinking of my own ass."

"You're right." Sam's voice was soft, yet surprisingly steady. Dean looked up and felt another pang of guilt at the silent stream of tears running along the younger man's cheeks. "You're not the only one grieving. I lost the woman I was going to marry. I still have nightmares. And now I dream about Dad, too. Not about hellhounds and the pit, but about how we used to always butt heads; how we'd always be fighting about the stupidest shit. Hell, half the time I was the one who'd started it." Sam chuckled humourlessly. "I still feel guilty about that. He did his best, and all I did was pick a fight. And now I can't even tell him I'm sorry."

"Sammy…"

"Let me finish, Dean. I know we haven't gotten along, but I miss him, too. And I'm far from ok. And neither are you."

"Sam, I'm fine."

"You're far from it. You spend hours working on the Impala, when we both know that there's no need. You drink, even after knowing full well what happened the last time. You keep telling yourself you're ok, when all I'm seeing is my brother try to kill himself again."

"Sam, I'm…"

"_Don't say you're fine! _I already lost Dad and Jess, and the cancer…. I just can't do it a third, time, ok? I'm not asking you to go off the stuff completely, just ease up a bit, ok? Please?"

Dean sighed, picked up the doctored coffee… and set the mug back down. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I didn't…"

"Just remember you can talk to me, ok? And if you can't do that, at least ease up on the booze." Dean watched as Sam sat up and headed out the back door, wiping his eyes. How could he have forgotten about the drinking? How it had led him to this whole mess in the first place. "Fuck," he murmured, slowly rising from his own chair. And with an outburst of anger which surprised even himself, he picked up the mug and hurled it across the room; it shattered against the cupboard, spraying liquid and pieces of ceramic along the floor. "_Goddamn it!"_ Pounding his fist against the table in frustration, Dean stormed out of the kitchen, unaware of the older man standing in the hall. Heart breaking for his boys, Bobby slowly dug out the broom and a towel, his own silent tears running down his face.

XXX

Dean found the journal a week later.

To be honest, the hunter didn't _find_ it so much as it had been placed by his nightstand during the night. Placed on top of the worn leather was a note, in handwriting Dean easily recognized as that belonging to his father. For one irrational moment, he thought that John Winchester himself had somehow snuck into his room while he slept, his death a clever rouse to welch himself from his deal. And then another rush of pain as he remembered the night they'd burned their father's body, the event still fresh in his mind. For several minutes he stared at the neon pink Post-It note as if it were poison; of course he'd left his journal with Bobby before meeting up with his boys. The old man had a gift of foresight fine-tuned from years of hunting experience. But as much as he knew damn well what was written on that obscenely bright note, and that his dad was right, Dean still avoided it as he got up, showered, and returned to his room to dress. It wasn't until he was finished that he gently plopped on the mattress and picked up the worn volume, fingers gently rubbing across the spine.

Co-ordinates. That was it, neatly printed in his father's script. For a moment, he stared down at the three numbers, as if unsure. And then, a small smile crept across his face. Gently he rose from his bed, made his way to the room across the hall, where Sam was already buttoning up his shirt. The hunter turned at the sound of his brother, and could only nod as Dean gently raised the journal.

"What do you say, Sammy?"

Sam nodded again in confirmation. Echoing his brother from weeks earlier:

"We've got work to do."


End file.
